Agony
by wbss21
Summary: Note:I've rewritten Chap. 3 & made it longer The Joker's been badly brutilized and Batman's the first to come upon him. But what will The Dark Knight do and how will he react to finding his greatest and most dangerous foe in such a compromised positi
1. Chapter 1

**Agony:**

**Chapter 1:**

He pushed his hand against the rain slicked brick of the building, digging his fingers inward, as though trying to latch tight to some invisible grip hold. He attempted, for the third time, to rise to his feet, only for his knees to buckle again, and once more, he fell to the grim laden, wet street below.

"Damn it…" He mumbled, his voice a whisper.

He lifted his eyes, looking ahead, the rain obscuring the visibility beyond a few feet. It had started to come down hard in just the last minute.

"Gahh!" He gasped, sucking in sharply at the stabbing pain which shot suddenly, unforgiving up his right hand side. This was absurd, he thought wearily. Normally he would enjoy it, but it seemed everything, lately, had been turned on its head. He giggled at the irony of it, even though it tore through his body like fire. It had always been _they_ who crawled away, terrorized and in agony. And it had always been he, making his grand exit, not because he needed to, no, because he _wanted_ to. Now it was just the opposite of all that.

It wasn't that he was scared. Not like them. He wasn't. He was angry. And he'd be _damned _if he let those mongoloid cretin security guards and their power hungry, sadistic leader end _him_! He laughed once more at the ridiculousness of it. He at least deserved to go down in a blaze of burning glory against the only man who'd earned the right to _put_ him down. Bastards. Who in God's name did they think they were anyway?!

His breathing was ragged, coming in short, rapid bursts.

He needed to get the hell off the street. Before _he _came. Now wasn't the time. He'd only bring him back, and that just wouldn't do.

Again he attempted to rise, his hand shooting out for the wall as his head spun in dizzying circles. This was such a quandary. He'd willed himself from the asylum and in to the city, but it had taken every ounce of what little strength he had left and now he was sitting here, an open target, practically offering himself up for capture. He knew, if returned, he probably _would_ die. He laughed.

"How shamefully pathetic…" He spoke aloud. He would have to repay the doctor in kind, he thought, if ever he was able to nurse himself back to health. Things, at the moment, were looking less then promising.

Somehow, he'd managed to stay on his feet for longer then a few, fleeting seconds, but his body ached worse then when he'd been beaten by billy clubs, much worse, and he was nauseous, saliva filling his mouth. He was certain he was going to be sick as the world around him seemed to rotate in circles.

There was an ally way some hundred yards up, he gauged, though it was hard to tell.

"Well, move!" He said, disgusted at his body's weakness. But the first step he took forward his legs gave way, and once again, he fell to the ground, his face hitting the pavement hard.

He moaned in pain.

"That's gonna leave a mark…" He giggled against the cold of the sidewalk, water and dirt filling his mouth, along with the taste of his own blood.

"Joker?"

He heard the voice somewhere above him.

"Fiddly sticks." He sighed softly, pushing himself, with great effort, on to his hands and knees. He began crawling away, knowing the action was useless. But he wasn't about to give in so easily. He had a reputation to maintain.

"Joker!" He heard the voice again, and kept crawling.

Moments later and he felt a strong grip about his shoulder, stopping him dead.

Out less then half a day and already he'd been caught. What a joke!

"Heh." He laughed.

The grip on his shoulder tightened and he winced in pain as he felt himself being pulled back and forcefully turned. Though it was unnecessary. He couldn't have put up any sort of real resistance as is.

He saw the large and powerful figure of his enemy standing before him. In the rain he looked as nothing more then a giant, black mass. The Joker again giggled.

"Good evening to you Sir." He said, his voice coming out in a croak, weak and barely audible.

Batman's eyes narrowed as he observed the disheveled and muddied figure on the ground before him. He'd spotted him from the rooftops, his white skin standing out against the dark of the sleeked city streets.

He'd, of course, been hesitant. It wasn't like The Joker. It wasn't like The Joker at all, to escape, only to leave himself plainly visible on the street the very same day. He knew Batman would be on the look out. And The Joker rarely put himself in a position to be apprehended until he'd at least had his fun.

But then the detective had seen him stumble, and fall to his knees and he knew, immediately, something was wrong.

So he'd come down to the street, and stood behind his enemy for nearly a minute, just watching him. The Joker had been unaware of his arrival.

That was another indication of something not being right.

The Joker had always been cognizant of when the Dark Knight arrived, long before he'd made himself visible. He'd often yell up to the vigilante while still on the roofs, daring him to meet face to face. Not this time. And Batman had stood silent as he again saw the madman rise to his feet, only to hold himself against the wall unsteadily for mere seconds, take a step forward, and fall face first to the concrete underneath.

That's when he'd decided to move in.

The Joker starred up at him with glazed and distant eyes, and the vigilante knew straight away the lunatic had sedatives running through his blood stream.

He noted he still wore his Arkham issued uniform, and no shoes. He looked a mess, and weak.

His chuckles broke the silence between them.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything?" He asked the Dark Knight.

"What are you doing?" Batman responded.

Again The Joker laughed, though he grimaced with each movement. He was in pain.

"What's it look like? Trying to get away from you."

"You're not doing a very good job."

The madman continued to giggle.

"Is that a joke Batman!?"

"Just an observation." The vigilante answered, his voice lacking in any amusement. "What's wrong with you?"

"What _isn't_ wrong with me?" The Joker eyed him. "According to you and all those _doctors_, wouldn't that be the more suitable question?"

"You look sick." Batman pushed.

The Joker only giggled.

"And isn't that _also_ to be expected?" He said.

Batman felt his fists clench. The clown had a way of agitating him no matter the circumstance, it seemed.

"You're going back to Arkham. You obviously need medical attention." He said lowly.

The Joker chortled.

"Oh, yes, and that's _just_ the place to get it. Top of the line medicinal care, if your aim is to die."

Batman glared at him with suspicion.

"_Another of his sick jokes, no doubt_." He thought.

He reached out and the madman made what could only be described as a sorry attempt to swat the vigilante's hands away.

"Honestly Bats, I'm not really ready to go back."

"It isn't up to you Joker." Batman said, again reaching for him.

The Joker once more attempted to deflect the Dark Knight, but the detective simply took hold of the lunatic's wrists and pulled him forward. He took note of how light The Joker seemed, lifting him towards him, and his eyes grew wide in alarm as he put his hands about the maniac's torso and felt through the thin cotton of his singlet.

He thought he could feel every bone in the man's body. The Joker had always been thin, but this was extreme.

"Joker, what…" He began, but stopped when looking at the man in his arms, seeing he'd passed out.

Something was _really_ wrong.

He lifted him fully from the ground, estimating in his head The Joker's 6'5" frame to weigh no more then 130 lb. What in the hell had happened to him? The last he'd seen of the clown had been only 4 months previous, and he'd been perfectly healthy then, save for the moderate beating he'd received. To lose that much weight, that quickly, he literally would have had to have been starving himself. Why in heavens would he do such a thing, Batman wondered, stopping himself. The Joker was certainly insane enough. And when had he ever needed any, _real_ reason to do _anything_?

Still, this wasn't adding up.

The Joker may not have feared death, but neither was he suicidal.

He moved with the madman towards his car, a block away. Walking, he noticed the odd angle of The Joker's collar bone, and thought it looked as though it had broken and not been allowed to set properly.

Something was definitely going on, something out of the usual.

When at last he'd reached the vehicle, the cockpit roof slid open upon his approach, picking up the signal from his belt. He was thankful for the technology as he placed The Joker in to the passenger side seat. The madman stirred slightly, groaning, his face contorting in a grimace. Batman eyed him for a long moment before finally cuffing him to the two bolts on either side of the seat and then getting in beside him. The roof slid shut, blocking the noise of the rain from outside. There was quiet and the vigilante glanced over as he heard the ragged, shallow breathing of the man to his right.

He couldn't explain it, but he felt a strange hesitation. He knew the right thing was to bring the lunatic back to the asylum, where he belonged. But he couldn't help the apprehension rising in his gut. How had The Joker ended up as he currently was? Had he done it to himself? And if so, why had the Arkham staff allowed it? They were supposed to be treating him. And though Batman knew that the institute's patients were often treated more as prisoners, there was no excuse for outright neglect, no matter the resentment felt by those working there.

The detective gazed ahead, releasing a heavy breath. He had little more then his instinct for support, but he felt, deep down, bringing The Joker back to Arkham could very well mean putting the madman's life at risk. And though Batman knew he really had no reason to care, he also knew, if anything did happen to the clown while there, it ultimately would be his responsibility, for brining him back when he knew he shouldn't have.

He sighed. This was a difficult decision. A dangerous one even. One he really didn't want to make.

"Alfred." He called in on the communicator. Seconds later, the butler's image appeared on a small screen.

"Yes Master Bruce?"

"Alfred, I've apprehended The Joker."

"So soon!?" The older man exclaimed, clearly surprised.

"Unusual, I know." Batman said. "Something wrong with him."

"With The Joker, Master Bruce?" He could hear the amusement in his friend's voice. "Would you mean in the regular sense Sir, or something more extraordinary?"

"No, I mean he's sick. He's extremely thin and…"

"You'll pardon my saying so Master Bruce, but hasn't The Joker _always _been rather on the emaciated side?"

"Not like this Alfred. He weighs hardly a thing. I found him on the street, struggling to even stand. He's incredibly weak. He passed out in my arms even."

"I see." Alfred replied.

Batman hesitated then.

"I don't think I should bring him back to Arkham Alfred. I want to bring him to the cave."

"What!?" Alfred nearly shouted. "Sir, with all due respect, I feel that is a most _dreadful _idea."

"I know. I know it sounds crazy but… But if I don't… if I bring him back to the asylum I'm afraid…"

"Afraid of _what _Sir?!"

"Afraid of… afraid of what will happen to him."

"Excuse me Sir?"

"I've got a bad feeling Alfred. The Joker escaped only this evening, which means he fell in to this condition while in Arkahm. Either he's been abusing himself and nobody's been trying to stop him, or he's been abused, and I'm leaning towards the latter."

"And…" The butler pushed.

"You know the new warden? Warden Sharp? He's taken over Arkham in just the past 6 months?"

"Yes."

"I've gotten a bad vibe off him. Have since the first time I laid eyes on him. And I've wanted him out for a while. He's a control freak."

"You'll pardon my asking _again_ Sir, but why do you care?

"Because Alfred, I've a strong suspicion Dr. Sharp's been implementing less then human methods in his quest for that control."

"You've evidence to support this theory, Master Bruce?"

"Not until tonight I didn't." Batman answered. "The Joker is my proof. He looks half dead. And something else he said, about Arkham being the place to be if your aim was to die. I can't in good conscious let him go back there, not until I've gotten to the bottom of this."

"I see." Alfred responded.

He could tell from the tone of his employer's voice that he wasn't in the mood to negotiate. He sighed loudly.

"Shall I make any special preparations then Sir?" He at last relented.

Batman glanced over at his arch nemesis and noticed he had begun to shiver, soft moans escaping his throat every few seconds. The vigilante was sure the madman was running a fever now.

"Just make sure the medical ward is well supplied, get one of the beds ready, and make sure there are plenty of blankets and pillows. Oh, and if possible, if you could prepare something to eat, hot soup maybe, and a fresh set of cloths."

"Cloths, Sir?"

"The Joker is soaked to the bone. He's been out in the rain. Anything of mine, so long as it isn't obvious to whom it belongs."

"Will your cloths even _fit_ The Joker Sir?!"

"He's taller then I am, but more thinly built." Batman replied. "They'll have to do."

"Very well Sir. I shall do my best. Anything else?"

"Make yourself scarce Alfred. I don't want him knowing of you."

"Indeed Sir."

And then the line was cut.

Batman again looked to The Joker.

"You always said I was as mad as you Joker. Maybe this proves it." He sighed, turning the ignition and shifting in to drive.

It was a long ride to the manor from where they were. He just hoped the maniac's condition wouldn't worsen in the time it took to arrive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

But as he had feared, The Joker did begin to deteriorate and by the time they'd reached the cave, the lunatic was shaking violently and muttering incoherently.

Batman quickly leapt from the cabin and moved around to the passenger's side. Normally, he would be cautious of The Joker, anticipating him to still pose a threat, even while seemingly incapacitated. But it was clear now the madman posed no such danger. The detective carefully un-cuffed each of his wrists before lifting him from the car with incredible ease. He again was shocked to feel how light and bony the madman was as he carried him across the floor.

He was pleased however to see the bed with extra blankets stacked on top, and a tray of steaming food by its side, as well as the cloths he had requested. Alfred, even when in disagreeance with his actions, was as ever, reliable.

Moving the pile of quilts aside, he placed The Joker gingerly across the mattress, starring down at him intently.

He had to get him out of those cloths quickly, and more thoroughly dried off. Otherwise, things would only become worse.

Carefully he sat The Joker up and began to lift the thin, cotton singlet over his head. He felt shock upon seeing for the first time the state of the madman's body. He was even thinner then the vigilante had suspected, with every rib showing prominently through, along with his spine and collar bone. It seemed that only skin covered the bone. The skin itself looked paper thin, and even more distressing, nearly every square inch was covered in ghastly bruises, new on top of old even, some yellowing, some fresh as the day, blue and black and red. Bruce thought he might be sick looking upon The Joker, but he pushed through the feeling, removing the pants and undergarments. His lower half was no better then his torso, also marred by grotesque discoloration. Upon closer inspection, the detective observed, beyond the bruising and older knife and bullet wounds, fresh lacerations along his back. What in the hell had happened to him? He couldn't possibly have done this to himself. Batman knew that. The Joker was a known masochist, true, but it would have been impossible for him to inflict the kind of damage his body had suffered by himself.

What's more, feeling along the madman's collar bone and left arm, it became apparent that he had indeed suffered breaks, and that they hadn't been allowed to properly heal. He examined his legs just the same, and found the right limb in a similar state. He was dehydrated too, severely. The vigilante moved to retrieve an IV drip, filling the bag with water, before taking The Joker's thin arm in his hand. There were track marks running from the inside of the arms crook to the wrist.

He'd been injected with something, many times over.

Attaching the drip, he then moved to examine The Joker's back before grabbing hold of the hydrogen peroxide, dabbing the liquid on to a cotton ball and applying it to the lacerations. Some of them were very deep and fairly fresh, obviously from just the past week or so.

The Joker moaned softly. He was definitely out of it.

Pulling a pen light from his belt, he forced the maniacs eyes open, shining the contraption in. His pupils were dilated. Batman quickly took hold of one of the many stacked, oversized towels near the rear of the bed and began to rub the cloth vigorously along the thin man's body, trying both to dry and warm him at once. The Joker's face twitched and Batman knew he risked waking him. His stomach tightened at the prospect of the clown regaining consciousness while in the middle of being dressed and the kinds of ridiculous insinuations he would make. Batman knew he did it as a means of agitation. None the less, it worked. It was a talent of the lunatics. A dangerous talent. He understood exceptionally well how to rile and fluster, how to use ones own emotions against them.

Batman pushed the thoughts aside and continued in his task. Carefully he dressed his nemesis. His body was fragile. Much more so then ever he'd seen it before, and he looked as though he might snap with too much pressure applied. Each time the vigilante moved the maniac, he groaned in pain, his face contorting and wincing. He would be hurting when finally he awoke, Batman thought. Though The Joker would never admit to such, he knew. His being unconscious rendered him vulnerable, his guard down. If aware, he never would let others see that the pain did indeed hurt him, just the same as it did everyone else. The difference between he and others was in how he would react, how it affected him. At least, in how he conveyed it did. He would lap it up, as though he enjoyed it.

It was madness.

Finally he finished, pulling the oversized shirt down straight. The cloths were far too large, save for the length. The Joker's limbs, in proportion to his incredibly height, were very long. But Bruce's frame was roughly 2 to 3 times as thick. The pants alone would fall to the madman's ankles if he were to stand.

Batman laid The Joker on to his back gently before taking a seat by the bed side.

He watched the maniac's chest rise and fall in a rapid and shallow pattern, questioning himself over why he was helping the sociopath. The Joker was a monster. He had, and if allowed, would continue to commit the most horrific of acts, without so much as a hint of remorse or hesitation. He had absolutely no concept of right and wrong, of the difference between the two. And though Batman despised him, in a way, with equal intensity, he felt sorry for him. He was diagnosed as clinically insane. According to the absolutely unending studies conducted on him, was unable to control his impulses. He had no say, no decision in what he did. In many ways, Batman thought, it was pathetic, pitiable even. It was why, he reasoned, despite the clown having pushed him so close, so many times, he had never been able to bring himself to end the madman's life, in spite of all the evil he had done. He almost, he admitted to himself, felt bad for The Joker.

The Joker would claim it was due to the intimacy they shared, how the two of them were inescapably alike, born of the same cloth. How they were the only two beings in all the world capable of relating to one another. As though they were destined to dance as they did forever, he would say. He would insist Batman needed him, as he needed Batman

But those were the ravings of a lunatic, not to be taken seriously.

He realized then he'd left The Joker unrestrained. Though in his present condition it was unlikely he would pose any sort of threat, it still was best to be safe. He had, after all, been surprised more then once by the maniac's uncanny tenacity. Gingerly he cuffed The Joker's thin wrist along the bed's railing, then covered him with one of the large blankets before leaning back, just watching.

He sat that way for what seemed nearly an hour, just studying the ailing man until, finally, The Joker began to stir. The vigilante could feel his body tense. There was something entirely off-putting about the maniac.

"Oh, my…" The clown mumbled softly, trying to bring his cuffed hand to his head. The chain pulled him forcefully back and that's when his eyes opened, narrowing at the light over head. Immediately he brought his gaze to the restraint which held him.

"Brilliant…" He again spoke. He starred at the manacles for only a moment before his expression seemed to change in to one of complete cognizance and an instant later, he looked up, directly at the detective.

Almost immediately he smiled.

"Well, hello darling. A most pleasant surprise, waking to your stoic visage."

Batman frowned.

"Do you know where you are?" He asked simply.

The Joker looked at him quizzically for only a moment before turning away, observing his surroundings.

"In a word…" He began after some seconds. "No. But, certain I can say, not Arkham."

He looked back to the vigilante.

"How in the hell did I end up in your clutches again? You'll have to remind me."

"You don't remember?!" Batman sounded startled.

The Joker's lips pursed and his eyes narrowed, tilting his head slightly to one side.

"Hmm… No." He answered.

The lunatic was in more dire straights then even he'd thought.

"I found you… on the street." Batman divulged.

The Joker still held a vexed expression.

"You were trying to escape."

The Joker laughed suddenly, before abruptly being cut off, grimacing.

That hurt.

"Really dearest, if I was _trying_, I would have." He managed to say through the fire which ran suddenly up his side.

"It looked like you were trying as best you could Joker, from where I stood. You had no strength to fight."

The maniac continued to stare at him.

"You really don't remember?"

"What _possibly_ might I gain in lying about so trivial a detail?!" The Joker snapped, obviously losing his patience.

"Do you remember escaping Arkham?" Batman ignored the flare of temper.

At this The Joker smiled.

"Indeed, I do." He said. "A daring departure! You should have been there!"

"If I had been there, you never would have left."

"Oh, a spoil sport, as usual." The Joker teased. "But I feel I must disagree. I was rather _determined_, you see. And when I've set my mind to a thing, as well you should know, it's quite the task deviating me from its acquisition."

"How _did_ you escape Joker?" Batman pressed.

"Ah, ah Batsy." The Joker wagged a long finger his way. "Some secretes are meant to keep."

"You barely could stand when I found you Joker."

"Power of the will, my lad." The Joker smiled. "However do you think it was I've been able to lay my hands upon you when so clearly your physicality outshines my own?"

Batman huffed. The Joker's eloquence betrayed the psychopathic tendencies underneath. The contradiction was disturbing, always unsettling to the vigilante. He imagined the madman's charm and sophistication many a time ensnaring some poor, unsuspecting victim.

"What happened to you Joker?" He changed the subject. If The Joker was unwilling to answer a question, the Dark Knight had learned, than there was absolutely no way of making him talk.

The lunatic's brows shot up.

"Happened to me?" He questioned.

Batman nodded towards him.

"You've been beat to hell Joker." He said, his voice monotone.

The Joker looked down at himself finally, lifting the blanket slightly.

"Change of attire!" He exclaimed, looking up, taking quick note of the discarded asylum uniform, draped over a nearby chair. "How very benign. Thought the style is ghastly, it's ill-fit being the least of its shortcomings."

He looked again to the detective.

"So, sweetheart, like what you saw?"

Batman felt his muscles tense.

"You were soaked. Nearly running a fever. I had to dry you off."

The Joker's grin broadened, bearing teeth.

"Always an excuse at hand!" He laughed before turning his attention to the IV drip in his arm, and then back to the cave.

"Now allow me a question of my own. Why aren't I back in Arkham, if indeed you found me, _gallivanting_ about the streets as you say?"

"Your condition Joker. I saw your body…"

"Most certainly you did!" The madman cackled.

Batman bristled, but went on.

"You've been beaten… severely. It could only have happened in Arkham."

"Quite the detective Batman. How ever did you come to so elusive a conclusion?"

"And you've lost weight. A _lot_."

"And…" The Joker rolled his eyes, as if bored.

"What happened?" The Dark Knight continued to question.

The Joker gasped loudly, dramatically.

"You care! You really, REALLY care!" He theatrically threw his free hand across his forehead.

"_Joker_! _Enough_!" Batman stood in frustration. "Answer my questions. Who did this to you?!"

The maniac waved a dismissive hand.

"I did it to myself. If you must know. An attempt to catch your attention. I have to say, it's worked wonders."

He was playing obvious games.

The detective shook his head.

"No. You didn't Joker. You may be a masochist, you may flaunt your tolerance for pain, but you've never been suicidal."

The Joker looked away then, his eyes scanning along the cavernous ceiling of the cave.

"So sweetums, where are we, exactly?" He changed subjects.

Batman sat again, sighing in exasperation.

"Someplace safe." He answered.

This elicited a sharp laugh from the maniac.

"Oh, darling, that's rich! You of _all _people should know there's no such place."

Batman said nothing.

The Joker rattled the chain of the cuff loudly.

"Especially considering… How long do you think this will keep me? I mean, _really_!"

He looked at the vigilante with amusement.

Batman felt a shot of anger run through him, his blood boiling at the uncooperative and threatening attitude of the clown. He stood again, abruptly, reaching out and forcefully taking hold of one of The Joker's wrist. He applied pressure, as a warning of how easily he could snap it. The Joker responded by grabbing on to the gauntlet, his expression telling of his extreme displeasure, the smile going completely from his face, and he stared at the Dark Knight with angry, accusatory eyes. But his grip was weak, frail even. He had no strength.

"Take your hands _off _me." The madman seethed, his voice low and dark.

The detective starred at him, bemused at the sudden shift in demeanor. The Joker never took his eyes away from the vigilantes own. They were intense, furious, nearly vibrating in the sockets.

Batman looked down to where he held his enemy, the maniac's long hand on his own. He was gripping the vigilante's glove tightly, and pushing, though Batman hadn't noticed until then. He released The Joker's wrist, stepping back. The lunatic looked away, brushing at his arm violently, as though trying to rid himself of something. The Dark Knight looked intently back, before again sitting, hesitant.

That was weird.

"You need to eat Joker." He said, pointing to the bowl of now cold soup, placed on a nearby tray.

The Joker whirled his head, looking to the dish.

"I'm not hungry." He stated simply.

"You're too thin. You need to eat." Batman countered calmly.

The Joker abruptly struck the mattress with his free hand, releasing a frustrated growl.

"Why do you persist in _pestering_ me Batman!?" He spit.

"You'll die." The vigilante responded.

The Joker was acting unlike himself. He was being easily angered. It usually took a great deal to fluster him, either that, or something very specific. Batman hadn't yet done anything that the madman wouldn't otherwise brush off with a laugh or some witty, insulting remark.

The Joker scoffed.

"Says the man who gets his kicks going out at night to beat the tar out of anyone who dares disagree with him." The Joker mumbled to himself, looking away.

Batman's eyes narrowed.

"I don't _enjoy_ what I do Joker." Batman defended, his voice angry. "You bring it…"

"Oh _please_!" The Joker cut him off, half laughing. "Don't you _dare _try and fool me sweetheart. I'm far too intelligent for that and you know it. Don't think I can't see the sadistic pleasure in your face when you ravage me."

"You bring it on yourself Joker." Batman continued. "By insisting on acting like a maniac. If you would just let me take you in, if you wouldn't fight me, I wouldn't have to hurt you. I don't _want_ to hurt you."

The Joker laughed loudly.

"I'm sure." He smiled, starring directly at the vigilante, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Is that what you tell yourself? When you continue to pound me against the concrete, even after it's become _painfully _apparent I've been rendered defenseless?"

Batman looked back, remaining mute.

The Joker chuckled.

"Not that I mind." He continued, flicking his hand upward, gesturing flamboyantly. "I quite enjoy it. But you already know that. No. What I find repulsive is your _denial_ of the pleasure it gives you. You have all these excuses, ready and waiting, to lift the burden of guilt. You can't be honest with yourself, with the simple fact that it makes you feel good. Just like _them_. It makes me want to kill you. It really does."

Batman starred. For a moment, he was at a loss for words. He felt his body tense. The truth was, The Joker was right. He did like the way it felt. Taking his anger, his frustration, his sense of justice out on the lunatic, it had always been a kind of therapy, invigorating even. He told himself The Joker deserved it. And he did! Still, the madman had him, dead to rights. Lying to him had always been a useless endeavor. The Joker _was_ too smart for that. But he never wanted to hurt him in the way he now was. He knew when to stop. He knew what was wrong. This was wrong. The lunatic may have deserved punishment, but there was a point in which his mental illness had to be considered, factored in. He didn't deserve this.

His thoughts were broken by The Joker again speaking.

"Oh, I know why you're pampering me now Bat-boy." He laughed. "You simply couldn't bear the guilt of letting me die. At least, that's what you _think_." He giggled madly.

Each time he did, it sent ripping pain through his body. He ignored it.

The detective decided it best to move away from the subject.

"Are you going to tell me what happened or not?" He said.

"Why should I?" The Joker countered.

"So it doesn't happen again." Batman was quick to respond.

The Joker laughed.

"Don't act ignorant to the abuse that goes on there darling. You aren't that stupid."

Batman frowned.

"I've never seen this." He said. "Not with you. Not with the others."

"Oh yes, and seeing is believing, isn't it dear?" The Joker chuckled. "Well, to be fair, it never was so severe. And more or less, the cattle kept away from me. The risk just wasn't worth the reward." He laughed. "But don't expect dear Jonathan or Edward or any of those other charlatans to come stumbling out looking like this. You see, Warden Sharp's new policies apply to me specifically."

"You mean…"

"I mean," The Joker cut him off. "being their star patient, well, they've concluded extreme measures to be in order… an experiment in treatment, I think they said." He laughed. "And should any ill befall me... It's not as though anyone should or would take note. If limited only to one, then no suspicion will arise, and the facility can go on operating, as it always has."

Batman eyed him intensely.

"The others receive their share of "punishment", as the staff justify calling it." The Joker continued. "But nothing out of the usual. Only their methods with me have intensified."

Batman leaned back.

"When did it start?"

The Joker laughed.

"Are you really that concerned?!"

"Yes. I am." The vigilante answered flatly.

The maniac sighed, looking away.

It wasn't something he wanted to talk about, Batman noted, that much was obvious. He was agitated, his mood sour. For The Joker, the behavior was unusual.

"I won't let you go back to that." He said finally. "I've been suspicious of Sharp from the beginning. If he's done this to you, it's only a matter of time before he starts on the others. We need to stop him now. If you tell me what happened, I can get him removed from the asylum."

"If you would have only let me be, you wouldn't need concern yourself with his removal. I would have seen to it myself." He chuckled.

"_No_ Joker." Batman stood. "Not like that. He'll be charged and tried. He'll serve his time. But you need to tell me what happened to you."

"How droll." The Joker looked away.

"You're half dead Joker." Batman said. "I don't know how you escaped, but if I send you back now, and Sharp is allowed to continue, it's likely you won't survive."

"Have I ever shown concern for that?" The Joker questioned, looking incredulous.

Batman sighed. It was true. The Joker wasn't afraid to die. He'd seen the madman stare death in the face on countless occasions. From other criminals, other heroes, from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He himself had nearly killed him, more times then he wished to remember. And The Joker had never shown even an inkling of fear, under any circumstance. He'd never begged for his life, or tried to appeal to whoever, or whatever, was threatening it. He wasn't driven at all my self-preservation, as most others were. Still, The Joker was a vain creature, egotistical, one who felt others were below him, and he wouldn't tolerate being treated as a lab rat.

"No." Batman finally answered. "But I know you Joker. You may not be afraid to die. But you also don't think anyone deserves to kill you. No one but me. You otherwise wouldn't have found the will to escape, not in your condition. You're angry, you want revenge."

The Joker looked at him intensely, when suddenly he smiled broadly.

"You know me too well Batsy. But right you are. No one should be allowed that privilege. No one but you, and myself, of course." He laughed.

The room fell silent for several seconds.

"Alright then." The Joker finally broke the quiet. "I'll tell you."

Batman leaned forward.

"Mind if I record this?"

The Joker smiled.

"How very considerate you are Bats." He batted his eyelids. "But be my guest."

The vigilante reached in to his belt, pulling from it a digital recorder.

The madman watched him intently.

"Okay." He said.

"I'll take some of that." The Joker nodded towards the soup.

"I thought you said you weren't hungry." Batman said.

"I am now." The Joker said simply.

Batman stood, handing the dish to his enemy. He watched him carefully, never taking his eyes from the thin man. He knew The Joker could utilize both the bowl and spoon as a weapon, and that he wouldn't hesitate to do so.

The Joker took it from him, pulling his legs in to a crossed, Indian style position before bringing the spoon to his mouth.

Batman noticed the care with which the madman ate. He must have been starving, literally. But he did not rush the food to his mouth; he did not scarf or slurp it. He ate slowly, daintily even.

After only a few bites, The Joker looked up.

"Well then, shall we begin?"

Batman waited.

"You recall our last encounter? When you brought me back?"

"Yes." Batman nodded.

"You dropped me in to the hands of that disgusting brute Jamison. And then you left. Without so much as a goodbye. I was crushed darling. Truly."

Batman felt his lip twitch. Could the clown ever be serious?

"Alright, alright!" The Joker rolled his eyes. No sense of humor, as usual, he thought.

"Well, it started soon after."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

"_Thank you Batman." Warden Sharp smiled up at the vigilante, his smile fake, forced. "You've done this city a great service."_

_Batman eyed the older man, his face stoic, unmoving. He said nothing. _

_Sharp frowned._

"_Yes, well… Did you check him for weapons of any kind?" He asked._

_Batman nodded._

"_He's clean."_

"_You're certain?" Sharp pushed._

"_Yes." The vigilante said, his tone cold. _

"_Very good then" He turned to Jamison, a large man, 6'2", 245lb, nodding. _

_The guard gave a nod back, grabbing The Joker by the back of his collar._

"_Get a move on clown!" He barked, pushing him forward._

_Batman watched for only a moment before turning, his cape swirling around him, taking his leave._

_The warden looked at the detective with disapproving eyes before himself turning, following his head guard, along with the two lower members of security and their prisoner. _

"_Intolerable. The vigilante thinks himself above the law." He mumbled to himself. "The fool needs a lesson in manners, I should say."_

"_No more then you." He was disrupted by a soft voice, coming from ahead._

"_Excuse me!?" He shot._

"_Your manners, doctor, from what I've seen, are lacking entirely." The Joker turned to look at the warden. "And you best take care what you say about the bat. He's mine, you understand. Only am I allowed to speak of him in such a way."_

_Sharp starred, gap mouthed at the madman, stunned in to silence for several seconds, before finally he scoffed loudly._

"_You're in no position to be making demands Mr. Joker." He said, moving ahead so that he strode by the inmates side. _

"_Is that what you think?" The Joker mocked him._

_The warden bristled, than stopped._

"_It's not what I think, Joker. It's what I __know__!" He spat angrily, looking up at the lunatic. _

_The Joker smiled._

"_They'll be no more escapes under my watch." Sharp continued. "That was your last, I promise you."_

"_You believe that too?!" The Joker feigned astonishment. "My word, you are __plagued__ by delusion."_

_Sharp felt his blood boil, his fists clenching involuntarily._

"_ENOUGH!" He snapped. "I will not be told about __delusion__ by a… a… psychopathic mental patient!" _

"_Temper, temper…" The Joker chuckled. "You may want to keep that in check doctor, lest you end up on the other side of the cage."_

_The warden's face had turned red, his eyes bulging. He breathed in deeply, trying to collect himself. This is what had happened last time. The lunatic had talked him in to a frenzy, frustrated him in to not wanting a thing to do with his case. And then he'd escaped. He wouldn't allow it again._

_Ward released the breath, then smiled, clasping his hand behind his back._

"_You'll see soon enough, Mr. Joker." He regained his calm. He then looked to Jamison and the other two. _

"_Take him to the showers. You know what to do."_

"_Yes, Dr. Sharp." The large man nodded, pushing forward._

"_Ohh, the suspense!" The Joker laughed over his shoulder. "It's killing me!"_

_Sharp stood watching, his lips pursed in annoyance._

"_Maybe not the suspense, Joker…" He whispered, turning away, heading towards his office._

_They shoved him up against the wall, removing the cuffs from his wrists._

"_Alright Joker, take em' off." Jamison ordered. _

"_No need to rush, Jami-boy!" The Joker giggled. "There's plenty of time."_

"_Shut up clown!" One of the other guards pushed him roughly, again in to the wall._

"_Roberts!" Jamison scolded. He quickly brought his attention back to the inmate._

"_Don't try anything Joker." He said warningly, smacking the billy club against his hand._

"_And what prompted you to thinking I would?" The maniac smiled._

"_Strip Joker!" The guard's voice rose. He'd lost his patience._

_The Joker shrugged, removing his jacket. Apparently, he was going too slow for the guard's liking because an instant later Jamison had taken hold of him, swinging him around and letting him go, so that he flew across the sterilized, white tile floor, losing his balance, falling. He looked up in time to see the three guard's moving towards him._

"_Why so rough boys!?" He laughed, moving to get up. "I know you're eager, but let's be reasonable here."_

"_Hold em'." Jamison ordered as they came nearer, the other two taking hold of The Joker's arms and lifting him to his feet. The Joker didn't struggle, but continued to laugh as his cloths were roughly removed by the head guard and he was forced under the shower heads._

"_Well, so far, so been there, done that." The Joker giggled madly as the ice cold water was turned on high, soaking his body. He didn't flinch._

_And suddenly, he felt himself smashed hard against the wall, a large weight pressing on to of him from behind, and a stiff object pushed against the back of his neck._

_And then he felt hot breath against his ear, and Jamison's voice came seeping in, a whisper._

"_You listen up clown, and you listen good. The warden's told us we're 'spoused to treat you special now, new protocol and all." He heard the man laugh. "Which means we're only just startin' to have our fun. Get my drift? You've had the run of the place long enough, __freak__, and big boss man don't like it. So he's gonna allow us some leeway, provide us some extra privileges, a little help, you know, to keep you's in line."_

_The Joker was then pulled from the wall, turned forcibly around, and slammed back. Jamison pressed his club against his throat._

"_We'll see you after your exam." The guard smiled._

_The Joker eyed him for only a moment before he suddenly latched to the man's head, digging his fingers painfully in to the scalp, gripping the hair as tight as he could, before bringing his knee up in to Jamison's stomach, effectively dropping the larger man, ripping hair out by the root in the process. The guard screamed in pain, and the inmate wasted no time in kneeing his face, dropping him to his back before jumping on him. The Joker had his large hands wrapped around Jamison's face, pressing his thumbs down in to the man's eyes, his teeth bared in focus and disgust. It was obvious what the maniac intended. The guard screamed a high pitch noise, and only seconds later The Joker felt himself being pulled off and thrown forcefully to the ground, bludgeoned by the thick, plastic sticks the men carried._

_Jamison struggled to his knees, his hands coming up to his face._

"_Oh God, I can't see! I CAN'T SEE!" He screamed._

_Roberts turned then._

"_Oh, Jesus…" He gasped, bringing his hand to his mouth._

"_I can't see, somebody please help me! I can't see!" Jamison continued to cry._

_The third guard looked then and was simply stunned in to silence._

_There was blood running down the head guard's face, running from where there used to be eyes._

_And suddenly, the man's screaming became mixed with laughter filling the room as The Joker turned on to his back in hysterics._

_Roberts shakily reached for his radio._

"_C-code red. Code red. East wing s-showers. W-we have an emergency."_

_The Joker's laughter grew in volume, even as he struggled to his knees._

_Only minutes later and the room had filled with guards and nurses, and soon doctors, each with horrified expressions._

_The Joker was quickly restrained with handcuffs, and pushed, at gunpoint, from the room. As he was walked past the now blubbering guard, being attended to by various medical personnel, he looked down and spoke to him._

"_Well I don't know about __them__, Jami-boy, but __you__ certainly won't be seeing __anyone__ after the exam. Or ever again, for that matter!" And he laughed again. And still he laughed, even as he was shocked from behind, and dropped to his knees. _

"_Tie him down. TIE HIM DOWN!" Warden Sharp yelled over the commotion._

_Several guard's and nurses struggled as they attempted to strap The Joker down to the gurney. It was taking each of them every ounce of strength they had just to hold him still as he pushed and fought against them._

"_His legs you fools! Hold down his legs!" Sharp was losing his composure._

"_Gahh!" A nurse turned, holding her face and screaming from the pain of having been thumbed in the eye._

_Finally, after nearly five minutes, they'd managed to restrain the madman's arms and legs and the warden approached, syringe in hand._

"_What you did Mr. Joker, was unacceptable." He began._

_The Joker leered at him, the smile never leaving his face._

"_And I'm afraid we're going to have to show you __why__."_

_He shot liquid from the needle before reaching out. The Joker jerked violently away but finally was held fast by the surrounding staff as Sharp took hold of the inmates arm, inserting the sharp tip of the syringe. _

_The Joker began to laugh as he felt the warmth spread through his body, but soon the lethargy took hold, his eyelids growing heavy. He never took his gaze from the warden, even as black spots invaded his vision. And in the next moments, he fell unconscious._

_When he awoke, he was in his cell, bound by a straight jacket._

_It was taking several minutes for his sight to clear, and when at last it did, he looked down at himself._

"_New design, huh?" He spoke aloud, observing the restraint. _

_It seemed they tried a new type of jacket on him every time he was there. And every time, he would figure out how to escape it. This time would be no different._

_He sat up quickly and almost immediately was hit by a wave of dizziness so strong it nearly put him back down._

"_Wow…" He said, leaning forward._

_That was weird._

_He shook his head, trying to regain to his sense of balance. He noticed suddenly how heavy his legs felt._

"_Hmm…" _

_When at last he felt steady, he moved to get up from the mattress, scooting his legs over the side, his feet touching the ground. But when he attempted to stand, he knew right away when his knees gave way and he fell clumsily to the floor. There'd been no strength, and he surmised quickly he'd been unconscious for a long period, and that was the cause. _

_Immediately he became suspicious. What was the last thing he recalled? That fool Sharp sticking him with a needle, injecting some sort of sedative. Clearly, he thought, it was no normal sedative. He looked up to the heavy metal door. _

"_You bastards." He mumbled bitterly. They'd put him in to an induced coma. He knew it. He began to wonder for how long he'd actually been out. With some effort he managed to prop himself on to his elbows and push himself backward, so that the wall supported his back and he was left in a sitting position. From there he starred at the small, barred window near the top of the door._

"_Do pardon!" He called out, but his voice came out in a croak barely above a whisper._

"_Damn it…" He cleared his throat loudly._

_Again he called out, but still his voice lacked any power. It took several minutes of clearing and wetting his throat, which he'd only just realized was incredibly dry, before he was able to get a decent volume._

"_Excuse me!" He finally yelled. "But by chance, would there be any of the unwashed filth wondering past?"_

_He waited, but no reply came. He rolled his eyes._

"_Hellooooooooo! I require __assistance__!"_

_He was met only with silence._

_He breathed out through his nose._

"_Fan-tas-tic…" _

_Suddenly he heard a rattling at the key lock and he smiled to himself. They hadn't bothered to tell him to stand against the wall. They thought he wasn't dangerous, just because he couldn't stand. He thought he might like to latch on to one of the smarmy pigs with his teeth. The door abruptly swung wide and he saw three, large guards standing in a group, clubs in hand. He grinned their way._

"_Well, hello boys!" He said. "It took you!"_

_They came at him, and that's when he saw Warden Sharp step in, behind them._

_He felt murderous towards the ridiculous quack, but on the outside did nothing but continue to smile._

"_Warden Sharp!" He exclaimed, as though excited. "How very __pleasant __a surprise!"_

_The older man smiled._

"_And you Joker!" He clasped his hands behind his back. "I see you've managed to move around a bit. That must have been difficult, no!?"_

_The Joker continued to grin._

"_Oh, nothing I haven't dealt with previous." He said, nonchalantly. _

_The warden eyed him with contempt._

"_So, doctor, how long have I been out? That was a cute trick, putting me in to a coma." _

_Sharp looked surprised, but only momentarily before he resumed his calm demeanor, leaning down and forward._

"_Well Joker, the truth is, you weren't supposed to wake from it on your own. It's been only a week. We removed your catheter just an hour ago, for a cleaning. We were waiting to bring you out of it, you see, until the time we deemed most appropriate in proceeding with our new treatment plan." He smiled. "It must have been that abnormal chemical balance of yours, hmm? That snapped you from it."_

_The Joker starred hard at him._

"_Must have…" He said._

_They eyed each other in silence for several seconds before The Joker finally laughed._

"_As fascinating as all this is, Sharpie, I was hoping for perhaps a cup of water. My throat's quite parched, as I'm sure you can imagine." _

_The warden smiled._

"_Yes, well…" He began, standing fully. "I'm afraid that would fail to serve our purpose Joker." _

_The inmate's expression turned suddenly to one of agitation._

"_It may not serve your purpose, doctor, but it certainly serves my own. And if you know what's good for you, you'll…"_

"_Gentlemen." Sharp smiled, cutting The Joker off._

_The guards moved forward and in the next instant The Joker felt the hard plastic of one of their clubs rake across his face, knocking him to his side. He had barely time to process what had happened before all three began to pummel him with their billy's. They were hitting him hard. Hitting him like when he'd first come to Arkham and the security didn't yet know how bad that could be for their health. And he hadn't even done anything to instigate it. _

_He only liked to get beaten when he knew he'd been the cause of it._

_This was annoying. _

_They kept on in their flogging for several minutes, not letting up until Warden Sharp ordered them to stop. _

"_Roberts, I told you not on the face." He heard the warden say._

"_Oh, s-so that the idea?" The Joker said, turning on to his back. And then he laughed. "Don't want our less n-notable friends taking notice! Might cause an uprising a-and all, if they knew your new policy."_

_The warden frowned._

"_Stevenson, get me some water."_

"_But Sir…" The guard protested._

"_Just __do__ it Stevenson!" Ward shot angrily._

_The guard complied this time, hurrying from the cell. _

_The Joker continued to gaze at the doctor, licking blood from his lips._

"_Isn't that right, Sharpie? Isn't that the reason?" He continued to prod._

_The older man tried to ignore him, and relief was evident on his face when Stevenson soon returned, a cup of water in hand._

"_Thank you Stevenson." Sharp said, taking the cup from him._

_He then turned back to The Joker and walked his way._

"_You wanted water Joker…" He said, bending down. "Well, here's your water!"_

_Suddenly he flung the liquid from the cup, in to The Joker's face._

_The room erupted in to laughter, Sharp not hesitating to join in, looking about smugly at the security as water dripped down the inmates face._

_The Joker fumed and suddenly, he lunged forward, sinking his teeth in to Sharp's lazily held hand._

_The man screamed out, falling backward, his face twisted in horror._

"_Jesus Christ, get him off me!" _

_The Joker clamped his jaws together as tightly as he could, cutting through the warden's flesh, whose cries became louder and more high pitched._

_The guards moved quickly, grabbing hold of the inmate and tossing him to the floor, once again beating him down with their sticks. This time The Joker laughed as he saw the warden struggle to his feet, his expression terrified as he observed the blood flowing from the open wound running along the side of his palm._

"_W-Warden Sharp! Are… Are you a-alright!?" One of the men asked._

"_My… my hand! Look what he did to my hand!" Sharp yelled, holding his wrist._

_The other two members of security stopped their pummeling then, turning towards the asylum head._

"_J-jezz Mr. Sharp, we-we should get you to the medical ward." Roberts said._

_They were disrupted by The Joker's increasing hysterics._

"_Indeed doctor, you should!" He laughed. "It might be infected. I've toxic blood, you'll recall. And my saliva may well be the same."_

_His laughter grew even louder as the color drained from the warden's face and he shakily ordered that the three guards make their exit, he following quickly behind._

_The Joker's amusement lasted well in to the night, his hysterics not letting up until some time the next morning._

_And for a week following, no one came to see him. He'd figured out quickly that they'd had him moved to solitary, away from any other patients. He knew it was so they wouldn't see what was being done to him._

"_Cowards." He'd thought._

_During the time alone, he'd managed to regain the life in his legs. And though the beating he had taken was bad, it wasn't anything he wasn't used to._

_But they weren't feeding him, and they hadn't brought him water. He knew they were trying to make him weak, so that he couldn't fight back. They obviously didn't know him very well. _

_On the seventh day by himself, he had nearly figured out how to escape from this new straight jacket he was sporting when he was disrupted by the sound of someone outside his door, working the lock._

"_Great." He thought, rolling his eyes._

"_Stand back clown! Against the wall!" Someone shouted through the bars. It sounded like Stevenson. _

_The Joker stayed in place._

"_Do it Joker! Or we'll make you!"_

"_Then make me." The patient dared them._

_Stevenson could feel his blood run cold as he looked nervously to the other two guards._

"_We've got our orders." Roberts said._

_The other two still looked uncertain. _

_Roberts rolled his eyes._

"_I'll go first then." He said, pushing Stevenson aside._

_The door opened and the three, large men came barreling in, slamming The Joker against the wall._

_Damn, if only he'd had an hour more, he would be free of his restraints and then he'd show these amateurs how to really rough someone up._

_They turned him around so that his face now pressed against the cold concrete and he soon felt them wrap something around his neck, quickly surmising it was one of those collars with the long stick attachments. _

_He then was moved back around and pulled toward the door and out of the cell._

"_So…" He began speaking to the men. "Where are we headed to boys? Inquiring minds want to know."_

"_Shut it freak!" One of them pushed him from behind._

"_Such manners!" The Joker laughed. "Did your mother teach you?"_

"_I said shut it!"_

"_Eric! Come on! You know what the boss said."_

"_Yeah… well…" The guard mumbled._

"_Ohhoho!" The Joker laughed. "No talking to Mr. Meanie, is that it? What is he, afraid I'll talk one of you pathetic mounds of flesh in to ending it all? It likely would be the only worth while action any of you ever took." He giggled._

_All three guards felt their blood boil._

"_I'll show ya' worthless you piece of shit!" Stevenson began._

"_No!" Roberts stopped him. "This is what the warden said he'd do, remember?! This is exactly what the clown wants!"_

_Stevenson starred at him, looking on the verge of explosion._

"_Come on man. You know it's true."_

_Finally the other guard relaxed._

"_Y-yeah. Alright." He said._

_The Joker sighed loudly. _

_That imbecilic doctor was trying to kill __all__ his fun._

_Finally they arrived at their destination, and the inmate was shoved through a large, metal door, in to a room he couldn't recall having ever seen._

_And there was Warden Sharp, sitting behind an oak desk, his fingers laced together and resting under his chin. He smiled._

"_Joker! So pleased you could join us!" He said, standing._

_The Joker leered at him._

"_Oh, but it's my pleasure doctor!" He said._

_Sharp smirked._

"_Hmm. I'm sure it is." He said, coming around to the table's front._

"_Well, Joker…" He began again. "As you'll soon find out, we've something special in store, just for you! An experiment in treatment, if you will."_

"_Really!" The Joker smiled. "And here I was, thinking we'd already embarked on that journey!"_

"_No…" Sharp answered. "No, that all was merely a prelude of things to come. You'll see." He smiled._

"_Will I now?! An exciting prospect!" The Joker laughed. "How's the hand, by the way?" He asked, noting the bandage the warden wore._

_He could see from the slight curl of Sharp's upper lip that he was frustrating the warden with his blaze attitude. The fool was planning on torturing him, he knew. He didn't care. He was going to get out of here soon enough, and then he'd show all these simpletons and their over-confident buffoon of a leader the grandiosity of their mistake._

_Sharp leaned back._

"_I see our new straight jacket's been doing its job." He said. "We had it specially designed. You're our first to wear it."_

_The Joker laughed suddenly, loudly._

"_Then you'll sooner then you think be made aware of its shortcomings." He grinned._

_The warden's eyes flashed in annoyance, and The Joker could see he'd really gotten to him then, any amusement the older man had been having clearly gone. _

"_Roberts, Stevenson!" He barked suddenly, never taking his eyes from the inmate. _

_The guards stood at attention._

"_Let's proceed, shall we?"_

_This was an organized affair. They'd obviously planned this together, as the two men removed the collar from around The Joker's neck, the third man standing by, pulling from his belt a tazzer. _

_The Joker continued to keep his gaze on the warden as he was pushed from behind, towards a thick, concrete column. One of the buildings support beams. _

"_Now don't try anything." Sharp stepped with them, talking to the inmate. "Or I'll have Smith here use that tazzer on you, and I don't think I need to tell you its set to high. One shock from that thing and you'll be relieving yourself in to a bag for the next month."_

_The Joker starred back at him with distain as the guards removed his straight jacket, and then the thin, cotton singlet underneath, leaving his torso bare. He quickly was forced to his knees, facing the column, his arm pulled forward and around it as they cuffed his wrists together with a thick pair of manacles. They'd stretched him as far as they could, to where the side of his face and chest pressed against the concrete and he couldn't move any part of his body. He heard a draw open and then close and seconds later, Warden Sharp stepped in to his line of sight. He held in his hands a bull whip._

"_You know what this is, don't you?" Sharp leaned forward, slapping the weapon in his hands._

_The Joker smiled._

"_But of course." He answered, seemingly un-phased. "I've more then my fair share of experience with that particular device. Though I doubt you wield it quite so well as the lovely femme fatal I've oft encountered."_

"_Well, I'm sure I'll manage." Sharp countered._

"_I'm sure." The Joker quickly answered. "But I fear you'll be gravely disappointed in the result."_

_The Warden stood, moving out of The Joker's view then._

"_We'll see." He answered. Anger was apparent in his tone. _

"_You've made a fool of me once too often Joker." He heard the older man yell at him. He was across the room now. "But __no__ more!"_

_The Joker laughed._

"_No need getting your panties in a bunch Sharpie. I do that to all the doctors here! Just ask!"_

"_NO ONE does it to me!" Sharp snapped._

"_Forgive my highlighting the obvious, but clearly, someone already has." The inmate continued to chuckle._

"_We'll see how funny you think things are, once you've had a little taste of this Joker!" Sharp fumed._

"_Many have tried robbing me of my humor doctor. Many more experienced then yourself. But all have failed." _

_Warden Sharp was incensed at The Joker's seeming lack of fear. He wasn't even tense, despite knowing what was coming, and it was angering the older man that he was unable to get to the inmate._

"_Oh, I'll see you scream Joker." Sharp said as calmly as possible. "I promise you, before I'm through with you, you'll be begging me for mercy."_

_The Joker only erupted in to hysterics, even as he heard the first crack of the whip and an instant later, felt the stinging pain of it across his back. It burnt like fire, splitting the skin wide. Only moments later, the whip again fell, the same effect running along his body and soon, he felt the wet of his own blood running down._

_And though he'd grown weaker, he continued in his laughter, to the very end, some 15 lashes later. He never stopped, even as his skin was mercilessly flayed. Until the warden could no longer lift the whip. The Joker kept laughing._

_He could hear the older man breathing heavily behind him._

"_I-is that a-all you've g-got d-doctor?" The Joker chuckled, despite the searing pain._

_There was no answer for many seconds._

"_Unchain him." Sharp finally said. "And clean him up. Wouldn't want those getting __infected__."_

_The Joker laughed. _

"_Funny doctor. I see w-we've both managed to h-hold to our h-humor." He said as the guards came around, undoing the cuffs._

_They lifted him under his arms, on to his feet, before again pulling his hands behind his back and slapping the manacles back on._

_He starred at the warden as he was being led from the room, never looking away until his back was turned and he was pushed through the door._

_They were taking him to the showers, the ones in the isolation ward. He felt weak, his legs heavy, and his back felt like someone had thrown acid on it, though he liked that. But he never let on, continuing to talk and insult the guards with witty remarks the whole way._

"_Shut up!" Roberts said, shoving him through the door leading to the showers. Once inside, they pulled his pants and undergarments to his ankles, ordering him to step out of them. He did so, slowly, and was again pushed, towards the wall._

_He turned to see two of them removing the fire hose from the wall._

"_Oh, this'll be fun." He thought. _

_Less then a minute later, they had the thing set, and in the next instant, The Joker was being hit with ice cold water. The blast was strong, knocking him off his feet, the water stinging his wounds even more, along with the rest of his skin. They must have doused him for nearly five full minutes before finally they stopped, lifting him to his feet._

"_Still laughing clown boy?!" Stevenson asked, smiling at how weak the inmate felt, hanging limply in their hands._

_The Joker giggled. _

"_But of course." He said, despite being in immense pain._

_Stevenson scoffed in annoyance._

"_Let's just get em' dressed and back to his cell." _

_They'd put him back in the straight jacket, given him a single cup of water, then left. No food. He must have lost ten or fifteen pounds since he was brought back, he estimated. He was sure he hadn't eaten since the night before he was caught. They were trying to starve him, but keep him alive long enough to torture him._

"_Cute." He thought to himself, leaning back against the wall. It hurt. His face remained stoic. _

_He figured out how to escape from the straight jacket that night. But if he wanted to escape the asylum, he was going to have to lift something, either from one of the guards or Sharpie himself. Once he did that, he'd be set. He knew ways to kill with the most seemingly harmless of objects, which they'd be finding out, soon enough, he thought. _

_But nobody came again for nearly a week. By then, despite being a minimal eater as was, The Joker was feeling the effects of having been denied food and water for so long and was even weaker then when they'd put him in the cell._

"_Well, good evening boys." He said to the guards as they came through the door, though his voice cracked and was weak. "Or is it morning? Afternoon? I've lost track of time, you see."_

_They didn't answer him._

"_Here!" Roberts held out a cup of water._

_The Joker eyed him suspiciously but none the less swallowed when the cup was held to his lips and leaned forward. He had trouble swallowing from his throat being so dry, nearly chocking on the liquid. The guards laughed._

_The Joker joined them. _

"_I know! It IS funny!" He managed between giggles. "How you think you're going to survive this!" And his laughter grew._

_All three men eyed him angrily, their own amusement stopping dead._

"_We __were__ gonna feed you clown, but now…"_

"_Roberts!" Warden Sharp's voice cut him off before he then appeared in the doorway, walking in._

"_Feed him." He said._

"_But Mr. Sharp!"_

"_Just __do__ it!" _

_The guard mumbled something under his breath, turning back to The Joker._

"_Alright, Smith, where's the food?"_

"_Right here." The other man handed him a plate._

"_Here's your food Joker. Now open up!" He held out a plastic fork with some gloppy looking mess on it._

_The Joker stared at him for several seconds before finally taking a bite, never taking his eyes from the guard. He hated doing this, cow towing to their demands. But he was going to die if he didn't eat, and he couldn't do that yet. He had to escape first and repay the dullards in kind. _

_It took a long time for him to finish. He ate slowly, deliberately, as the security and Sharp watched him with ridiculous interest. _

_By the time he was done, The Joker felt as though he might be sick. Such was the result of having not eaten anything really solid for several weeks._

"_Very good." The warden said. "Now beat him. Break a few bones." _

"_Yes Sir." Roberts said, turning back to the inmate with a big grin on his face, smacking his billy club across his palm. _

_The Joker didn't even look at them, but kept his sight trained on the doctor as he left the cell._

"_Wretched pig." He thought before he was met with a blow across his shoulder. He knew instantly his collar bone had broken. The guard's then proceeded to pummel him with their sticks, and it went on for several minutes. By the end, they'd broken his right arm and leg before leaving him. _

_He'd laughed, if only to put them off. Which it had. They looked concerned for themselves when at last they had left. But he was angry. Extremely angry. He didn't think he could tolerate this much longer. And he simply wouldn't. The first opportunity presented, and he was going to take his leave, and hopefully leave some much needed destruction in his wake._

_Again it would be a week before they came for him. Their pattern was becoming painfully predictable. _

_He'd managed in that time to free himself from the straight jacket and let his arm lie stretched and still. But he knew they'd be coming and couldn't yet afford for them to know he could escape from the restraint. And so he put himself back in it before they would again show. The pain was incredible. But then, he'd always thrived off pain. It made him feel alive._

_When they did come, it was to take him to electroshock therapy. Though this was different then it had been before. They'd had to carry him to the room, since he couldn't walk with his leg. Though they paid little mind to it as they strapped him to the table, forcing the rubber guard in to his mouth. _

_Warden Sharp had been growing increasingly smug, talking to The Joker as though he were a child as he ran the electrical currents through his skull. He had it set on high, and would keep it going for spans of nearly 15 seconds each time. As a natural reflex, The Joker couldn't help as his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth ground together. It felt like a vice on his head, the pressure was so intense. _

"_Poor baby." Sharp would pat him on the cheek and say. "Just a little bit longer. To rearrange the bad wiring in your brain." _

_This slob was going to die. He was going to die a slow and __painful__ death._

_He'd passed out almost immediately upon being returned to his cell. He wasn't even certain how he'd held on to consciousness before then. But the last thing he was going to do was give them the satisfaction of seeing that._

_This pattern continued for the next several weeks, in which they would come once every week, give him a little food and water, very little, then bring him to electroshock, or tie him again to that post and whip him. They'd been injecting him with sedatives as well, though other then making him drowsy, they really had no effect. _

_There hadn't yet been opportunity for him to get near to any of them, not without his hands cuffed, and so he hadn't been able to lift a thing. He was growing frustrated, and weaker by the day. He knew if he was going to make it, he would have to make his move soon._

_That chance came 4 months in to his stay when, as usual, once during the week, they came for him, bringing him to the same room they'd been using repeatedly for whipping him._

_But this time was different._

_The Joker's broken arm, leg and collar bone at last had healed. He'd been waiting for it. They'd put it down to the inmate's unusually rapid immune system. He was able to recover from injuries and illness at an alarming rate. But they were being near sighted. His ability to free himself from their straight jacket was something they remained unaware of, and it had helped him to relax his upper body in the time they were away._

_When they entered the room, Warden Sharp was seated at that oak desk again, as usual. And as usual, he held a smug expression. But, The Joker knew, Sharp had also been growing immensely frustrated. He had expected to break the famed Arkham inmate by then, and yet, with each whipping, or beating, or electroshock treatment, no matter how intense, how sever, despite the fact they'd starved him, The Joker hadn't once cried out in pain, or begged for mercy. He hadn't bent to the warden's will. And Sharp was both angry and confused. _

_The Joker noticed, as he looked about, a chain hanging perhaps four feet from the ceiling, sporting a metal loop at its bottom, a pair of hand cuffs hanging limply from that. _

_He knew right away they meant to hang him from it._

_A new form of torture. How convenient, he thought. It would be the perfect cover for the little acting job he planned to put on._

"_Good evening Joker." Warden Sharp greeted him. "And how are you?"_

_The Joker starred at him for a long moment._

"_Well, most people think I'm ill." He smiled._

_The warden looked blankly back for a second before forcing a laugh._

"_Still cracking jokes, are we?"_

"_Isn't that to be expected?" The Joker asked. "I mean, come __on__!"_

"_Yes, well…" Sharp smiled before standing, clasping his hands behind his back._

"_We've something new in store for today." He continued. "I'd like to see how __funny__ you find it." _

_Oh, the man was really disappointed, was desperate for some sort of reaction other then what he'd been getting, and he was letting it show through today._

_How completely perfect._

"_Really?" The Joker asked. "Because I've been meaning to tell you, you've shown great promise in the comedic field in the past month alone."_

_The older man felt his skin grow hot and his fists clench. He was angry and The Joker could see it. Just begging for relief. He'd give it to him, for just a brief moment._

"_Men." The warden ordered their attention. "Hang him up."_

_They did as they were told, removing the inmates straight jacket and pulling him to under the chain, forcing his arms above his head and his wrists in to the manacles. The Joker now stood with his arms stretched upward. Due to his height, his bare feet remained firmly planted on the ground._

_The warden stepped in front of him._

"_Comfortable?" He asked, leaning forward._

_The Joker only starred back._

_Sharp cleared his throat._

"_You see those over there?" He pointed to a corner of the room. The Joker kept his gaze trained on the older man._

"_Well," Sharp continued. "They're wooden paddles. You know, the kind they use for rowing boats… I thought you might like to become better acquainted."_

_Still The Joker said nothing, only continuing to bore in to the older man before him. _

_Finally, after eliciting no response, Sharp looked to his men, nodding. One of them produced a ball gag, quickly moving to the inmate and forcing the thing in to his mouth before hooking it around the back of his head. They then moved for the paddles, taking up one each._

"_Let's have some fun, shall we?" The warden smiled, standing back as the guards surrounded the inmate. "You may begin." _

_The first blow cracked his ribs on the left side of his body. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Though The Joker had experienced far worse in his lifetime. Another blow, on the other side, and now he had fractures on both ends of his rib cage. He sucked in sharply through his nose as a third blow hit his lower back. After a few minutes, his shoulder sockets began to ach terribly and by then the skin of his torso had begun to turn red with welts, and split open to bleed, his saliva covering the rubber ball between his teeth. _

_The entire time, Warden Sharp walked in circles around him, talking to him, asking if he was enjoying it, if he thought it was funny._

_What's funny is your face when I kill you, The Joker thought as he was hit by the edge of a paddle, right in the solar plexus. It knocked the wind from him, and he lowered his head, nearly chortling at the severity of the pain, but managing to stifle it as again, he was slapped from behind, on his shoulder blades. He kept his head down, squeezing his tightly shut and breathing in, holding it. He held this way for nearly a full minute as the guards continued to beat him in succession to one another. They must have cracked all his ribs by then, as each blow sent a shock wave of pain up each side of his body, all the way down to his toes and up to his neck. As he hung limply forward, the strain of the cuffs became apparent as they began to dig in to his wrists, cutting the skin open, the blood running slowly down his arms. This was actually difficult. He could handle it, of course, but his body had been severely weakened from lack of food or water, on top of the consistent abuse they'd been handing out to him the last, several months. What normally would fail to phase him was now proven taxing. He knew if not for the chains holding his body up, he surely would fall to his knees. Still, it could only help authenticate what he was about to do. He timed it exactly, as another of the guards swung his paddle, connecting with his abdomen, he released the breath he'd been holding, and as a result, he chocked out, loudly._

_It stopped them and they all stared._

_And suddenly, the silence of the room was filled with a pathetic whimpering noise._

_Warden Sharp stepped closer as he gazed intently at The Joker._

"_Gad… pwease…" The inmate suddenly sobbed, his voice stifled by the gag, his voice coming out weak and broken. "P-pwease stop…"_

_The warden leaned in._

"_What was that?" He looked to Roberts. "Remove the gag!" He ordered._

_The guard did so._

_The Joker lifted his head then, and the shock was apparent on both the guards and Sharp's faces as they saw tears streaming from the madman's eyes._

"_P-please…" He cried. "I can't… I can't take any more."_

_He appeared truly crushed, his voice wavering and frail, his face contorted in agony. _

"_I… I beg you, please… t-the pain…"_

_Warden Sharp couldn't contain the smile that crept quickly on to his lips._

"_Well, well, well…" He began, looking around. "It seems we've had our breakthrough, at last. The therapy seems to be taking affect?" He asked, leaning in closer to the inmate._

_The Joker hung forward, his head lowering again, his only response quiet sobs escaping his throat, more like whimpers. _

"_Well gentlemen, I think that's enough for today." Ward stepped back, a broad smile now adorning his face, his hands clasped from behind. "You may take him down now."_

_As they undid the manacles, The Joker quickly fell to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer. And suddenly, he fell forward, wrapping his arms around Warden Sharp's legs. And burying his face against the man's knees, he began to sob violently against him, his body trembling and quaking. _

_The guards moved fast to throw the inmate off of their employer, but Sharp raised his hand, stopping them._

"_It's alright!" He snapped as The Joker began to mumble under his breath._

"_Please… please… don't hurt me anymore… please…" He whispered._

_The warden smiled down at him, resting a hand in the inmate's hair, running it softly through the green locks._

"_There, there… It's alright. I know you've been holding this in Joker. I know it's been hard." He consoled in a soft, soothing voice. "But it was for your own good, you understand?"_

_The Joker nodded, holding tighter still to the older man's legs, his face buried against them._

"_You needed something sever to snap you out of your psychosis. That's all. But it'll all be alright now, you'll see. It's all going to be fine."_

_Again The Joker nodded, his tears beginning to dampen the warden's slacks. _

_They remained that way for several minutes, Sharp running his hand through the patient's hair softly, shushing him and telling him he did a good job, The Joker responding only through nods and whimpers. _

_The three guards held looks of bemusement, some rubbing the backs of their necks in surprise and disbelief. _

"_Their going to take you back to your cell now, alright?" Sharp finally said._

_The Joker gave a nod. _

"_And maybe we'll visit later with food and water. Does that sound good?"_

_Again The Joker nodded._

"_Very good." Sharp smiled, looking up at his men._

"_You may take him now."_

"_Y-yes Sir." Roberts complied._

_The three men moved towards The Joker who sat slumped forward, on his knees, against the warden. Taking hold under his arms, they lifted him easily to his feet. He didn't struggle or make any remarks, only stood quietly as they again restrained him in the straight jacket._

_Turning him to walk out of the room, Warden Sharp called out._

"_I'll have my men here bring you food and water later tonight!" _

"_Y-yes Warden." The Joker muttered softly. "Th-that would be nice."_

_Sharp smiled and watched as they took the inmate from the room, sighing contentedly as he went back to his desk, taking a seat. _

_He broke the bastard at last!_

_He waited some minutes after they'd deposited him back in his cell, making sure they'd left the ward before freeing himself from the straight jacket, running a hand through his hair and breathing in sharply._

"_Disgusting." He whispered to himself. "He actually __touched__ me!" He face twisted in disgust._

_He despised the moment of satisfaction he'd given the pompous fool. _

_Allowing Sharp the satisfaction of seeing him broken and crying, even if it was all acted, well acted, he might add, it still churned his insides to think about it, was more painful then anything physical they'd done to him yet._

"_Well, it was well worth it!" He laughed, looking down at his hand, at the fountain pen he held._

_He'd lifted it from the warden's pocket. They never saw him move for it, such was the speed and the delicacy of his magician hands. It was perhaps his most useful skill, he thought. _

_But he was weak. That part hadn't been an act. They never could break his mind, but they'd done enough to nearly break his body. And he knew if he wanted to show them the error of their ways, he would have to make his escape soon._

_He looked up, at the door. _

_All he had was to wait, out of the barred windows sight. And when they came back to feed him, well, a nasty surprise awaited them indeed._

_He laughed, a wide smile coming over his face as he sat down across the cot, his back against the wall, his eyes trained on the metal door._

"_I don't know why the boss all a sudden wants to treat the freak nice." Smith complained as they stood outside The Joker's cell._

"_Cause he finally got the clown to break, skitzo!" Roberts explained. "I can't believe it, but he did. You saw the way he was blubberin' like a little baby."_

"_Yeah." Smith nodded._

"_Oh, he's still got more of that "experimental treatment" planned." Roberts laughed. "But for now, he's just kinda savorin' the moment. And I'm going right along with it. I've been waitin' for this day a long time."_

"_Yeah, after what he did to Jamison man…"_

"_Yeah… And he'll suffer a lot more…" _

_The two men nodded as Roberts put his key in to the lock._

"_You asleep clown!" He called through the bars, peering in. He saw nothing._

"_Yo clown! You in there?!" _

_There came no reply._

"_Shit." Roberts hissed, turning the lock._

"_What?!" Smith asked._

"_I don't know…" Roberts answered, pushing the door open._

"_He… he ain't in here!"_

"_What!?" _

"_He ain't…" _

_The Joker suddenly stepped from behind the door._

"_Hello boys." He said._

_Robert's eyes grew wide in shock, and he had only a moment to process what he saw before The Joker buried the fountain pen deep in to his carotid artery and shoved him against the wall, taking from him his club as he did so._

_The guard sputtered and spit blood as his hand reached up for the pen now sticking grotesquely from his neck, his eyes huge._

"_J-J-Jesus Christ!" Smith stumbled backward. The Joker was quickly upon him, and before the man could lift his own stick, the madman had raked him across the face with Robert's, knocking him to the floor. The guard groaned in pain, looking up in dazed confusion, in time to see the club again come down. It would be the last thing he saw as again and again The Joker bludgeoned the man's skull, until finally it split wide and he stopped moving. It all happened in a matter of seconds and as the lunatic turned back around, he saw Robert's had slid to the floor and was fumbling with shaky hands for his radio._

"_Ah, ah, ah…" The Joker waved a disapproving finger. "You don't want to ruin the fun, do you?" He came towards him. "No, of course not." He said, swinging the club, smashing it against the guard's hand, knocking it away from his belt. "This is my going away party." He went on. "But it's rather exclusive, you see. Just us three. The others will have to wait. But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves."_

_Robert's attempted to move away then, and The Joker smiled. _

"_That's the spirit!" He laughed, and abruptly, he swung the billy in an upward arch, smashing it against the dying man's jaw, knocking him to his back. _

_Normally, The Joker would have enjoyed playing with them a while before dealing the final blow. But now he hadn't the time. He had to make his leave quickly and as quietly as possible, lest more guards came. He was too weak to deal with more, as much as he hated to admit. _

"_Say goodnight Sloberts. And please, do not despair. You'll soon be joined by wife and daughter! I promise."_

"_N-n-no…" The guard moaned weakly._

"_Oh yes." The Joker grinned. "I'll be paying them a visit __very __soon. So worry not, your family reunion is nigh!" _

_Again Roberts began to protest, but he was cut suddenly short as the maniac swung the stick down, in to his skull, and continued to do so until it was very clear the man was dead._

"_Ahh! Parting is such sweet sorrow!" The Joker laughed, gesturing theatrically. "But I really must be going. Give my regards to Daniel, will you dear?" He patted the blood splattered cheek of Roberts before turning and exiting the cell._

_He peered down the corridor. _

_Normally, he would make a show of his escape, so that by the end of it, the entire asylum would know of it. But he was in a sorry state and knew this time he would have to take one of the underground exits. He knew so many ways to leave this place. Ways no one else had yet discovered, and perhaps never would._

_He moved quickly but quietly along the hall, exiting the ward with care. From there, he hastily made his way across the floor. He was exhausted, and felt on the verge of collapse. Killing those two guards had taken more out of him then he anticipated. Still, it was now or never._

_Coming to the area's far right corner, he stopped, bending down over a specific square of tile. He had to move fast. There were other guards on this floor, around the corner and they'd be making there runs here soon. And others would be coming once they realized Robert's and Smith had been gone for too long._

_He dug his fingers in to the tiles edge, sliding his nails between the stone and lifting. The square came up, and underneath, there was a hole, a dirty tunnel. The solitary confinement ward was located on the very lowest levels of Arkham, just above the buildings foundations. The Joker had discovered this particular rout several years back, while having a look about on one of his escapes. He generally loved to savor these sorts of things, and would often take his time before exiting. He slid in, laughing as he thought how anyone even slightly more bulky then himself would become stuck. It surely was a tight fit. Moving the tile back in to place, he began to crawl forward. It was pitch black, but he knew exactly where this led. There was piping beneath the dirt, and about 1000 yards up, this would become a metal tunnel, leading out to Gotham's sewer system. _

_The oxygen in here was limited, and The Joker was having difficulty breathing, the pain in his ribs making it harder still, but he kept on and within 15 minutes, he'd reached the tunnel, the space opening up considerably. Another 5 and he'd hit the sewer, jumping down to the mucky water below, the liquid splashing all over his pants._

_He breathed out. He was beginning to feel dizzy, but he shook it off and began forward._

"_Let's just hope Croc's not down here." He laughed to himself. "I think he's probably still miffed at me over that magic trick."_

_It took another 2 hours still before he reached the man hole which he knew would place him at the center of the city. By then he was ragged and could barely stand. But he had to move. As soon as he could reach one of his hideouts, he'd be fine. And so he ascended the ladder, lifting the heavy, metal lid with some difficulty and sliding it along the street, lifting himself out. He was met by droplets of water hitting him in the face. It was raining._

"_Merveilleux! Tout simplement merveilleux!" He laughed, moving off, in to the night._

"So darling, that's what happened. Shed a tear yet?" The Joker batted his lashes, than laughed.

Batman shook his head.

"I'm sorry." He said simply.

"Oh, don't be sorry!" The Joker scoffed. "It doesn't at all become you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Batman breathed in deeply, again folding his arms across his chest and, momentarily, casting his eyes downward.

He was put off by The Joker's demeanor. He could tell the madman was playing it off as though it were no big deal, but underneath, he was angry. _Very_ angry. And an angry Joker, Batman had more then once found out, was a dangerous Joker. Inwardly the vigilante rolled his eyes at the thought. Any Joker, whatever mood, whatever _version_, was dangerous. But when he wasn't happy, which seemed a rare thing, then his thirst for blood pushed out any inclination for prankster antics he usually might have had. When like this, there _was _no chance, however slim it may have usually been, that he would slap you with a pie instead of shoot you with a bullet. The Joker _was_ susceptible to anger, though, Batman had also learned, it was quite the task driving him to it. When The Joker said he was a happy individual, he wasn't lying.

It was in this knowledge that the detective had known something bad had happened to The Joker, even before he'd recounted the details.

He looked up. The Joker still kept his gaze away, and it looked as though he were concentrating fully on some spot Batman couldn't himself discern.

He cleared his throat loudly to get the lunatics attention.

"We should document this." He said slowly. "So the board knows you're telling the truth."

The Joker's head snapped around to look at the vigilante, and suddenly a wide smile spread across his lips.

"Oh, you mean…"

"I mean we need to take photographs of your injuries!" Batman was quick to cut him off, knowing what the manic was about to imply.

The Joker's grin widened and he batted his eyelashes before erupting in to laughter.

"Oh, Batsy, There's no need for shame. After all, my body is a desirable commodity to many."

This time Batman did roll his eyes. He knew The Joker would often use this tactic on the asylum security. It was his way of getting them to snap and beat him. The masochist in him.

It made men uncomfortable.

And The Joker was a master of creating uncomfortable situations.

The vigilante stood and moved towards the shackled man, taking a small, electronic device from his belt.

"What's that?" The Joker questioned him, eyeing the thing. There was suspicion in his voice.

"A camera." Batman answered.

The Joker kept his eyes on the contraption as the vigilante moved closer.

His mind had been working the entire time, observing his surroundings, trying to figure how best to escape the place.

He _wasn't_ going back to Arkham, and he wasn't going to let Sharpie and his one remaining lackey off that easy. If deary here had his way, all that would become of the worthless wastes of space would be a slap on the wrist, a loss of their jobs. Certainly, they wouldn't be doing time. The Joker knew no jury would convict either for slighting him.

Though escaping the bat would prove far greater a challenge then from those simpletons. He knew that. Especially in his present condition. Still, he had to try.

The Joker acted quickly, reaching his free hand on to his shackled one, and the vigilante's eyes shot wide as he heard the loud crack and watched the madman slip from the manacle. The lunatic had snapped his own thumb back, breaking it so he could slip his hand through the loop. He hadn't even flinched.

"_Damn it_ Joker!" Batman cursed, seeing his enemy practically leap from the bed and begin to move across the cave. "You maniac!"

He watched as the pants he'd supplied fell to the madman's feet.

"Whoops." The Joker giggled madly before kicking the slacks quickly from his ankles and continuing.

Batman perused quickly, making fast ground. It was immediately obvious that The Joker's condition was rendering him extremely weak. Batman wondered as he approached how the madman had even the strength to stand.

And just when he was upon him, reaching out to take hold of his enemy, The Joker stopped and ducked, causing the vigilante to tumble clumsily over his back.

Swiftly Batman rolled to his knees and turned, seeing The Joker scurrying off in the opposite direction.

"Tricky son of a bitch!" He swore under his breath, getting fast to his feet.

And again he charged after The Joker, more careful this time. The vigilante silently scolded himself for not expecting that. And so when The Joker again stopped, so too did Batman. And he watched, expecting the madman to again duck down, or turn and face him.

But he didn't.

Instead he stood there for a moment, totally still. And The Dark Knight stood equally silent, watching for any sign the arch nemesis might try something.

His eyes instead shot wide in shock when The Joker swayed slightly and then abruptly fell to his knees.

The maniac had been overcome with a wave of nausea and dizziness, all at once, and suddenly, he couldn't feel the ground beneath his feet and he'd lost his balance.

Batman approached slowly as he watched the madman tremble terribly, and then gag, and in the next instant, vomit violently.

The vigilante could feel his mouth turn downwards in to a frown.

He'd never seen that happen before. Not with The Joker.

He moved closer.

"Joker…" He began quietly as the maniac's body quaked.

He reached for his enemy, placing a hand gently upon his shoulder.

But he was taken aback when The Joker turned violently, a murderous rage in his eyes.

"Stay _back_ Batman!" He hissed before again, abruptly, heaving.

"Joker, you need to rest." Batman protested, cautiously reaching a hand forward.

"I've had all the rest I can take!" The Joker spit. "I don't sleep! Do you understand me!? I don't sleep!"

The vigilante stared at him in amazement.

"Joker, you're making no sense…" He began calmly, only to be cut off by a sharp streak of laughter.

"Oh, no, no, no! I'm making _perfect_ sense darling! _Perfect_ sense!" He continued to chuckle, wiping the bile away from his mouth with the back of his forearm, leaning weakly forward on to his other palm.

Batman kept focused on him.

"Couldn't…" The Joker began, then stopped. "… Couldn't you have just let me _be_!?"

The detective now felt utter confusion. He'd absolutely never seen the man in such a state. Almost as though… he were desperate.

"Joker, listen to me…" He tried again.

But the madman simply shook his head and again tried to rise.

Batman moved for him, but The Joker had scarcely made it off his knees before he again fell forward, gagging sharply.

"Ah hee, ah heeheehee!" The thin man slurred his laughter, again wiping at his own mouth. "I think your soup made me sick Batsy…"

The detective watched for only a moment as The Joker crawled forward before he reached out and took hold of him, pulling him backward.

Again he was shocked by how easily he accomplished this.

The Joker's thin build was dangerously deceptive. The countless times they'd fought, the vigilante had been made more then aware of just how incredibly strong the madman was. He had never been easy to take out, never easy to hold down or incapacitate. His threshold for punishment was unlike any Batman had ever seen. He could just take and take and take. Sometimes the crusader found himself having to hammer the lunatic directly in the face a dozen or more times before he would finally succumb to the beating and go unconscious.

But now he pulled the psychopath to him without so much as a hint of resistance.

"Let me go Batman." The Joker tried to pull away, but the detective held him fast.

"No." He said simply, falling to his own knees and pulling the thin man close.

He didn't want to do this. But as usual, the lunatic was leaving him little choice. He pressed his forearm to The Joker's chest, reaching his free arm around to his belt and taking from it a cloth and small vile of chloroform, struggling to keep the madman from squirming as he applied the liquid to the rag.

The Joker pushed harder against Batman's hold.

"Don't you _dare_!" He spit, realizing all too quickly what the vigilante had planned.

But Batman simply ignored him, pressing the cloth quickly against The Joker's nose and mouth, holding it there firmly.

He was surprised by how valiantly the madman suddenly struggled, pulling with greater strength at the detective's forearm, trying to pry the hand from his face. But he was failing as the chemical took affect, and soon Batman felt the maniac go limp in his arms.

He looked down at him then, seeing how he'd slightly slumped forward, his head falling to the side.

"Damn it Joker…" He mumbled to himself. "Why do you always have to make things so hard?"

He noticed the broken thumb then. It was positioned at an awkward angle, and it looked extremely painful. The vigilante shook his head in disbelief. He wondered how anyone could do such a thing to themselves and show no sign of hesitation or that it had even hurt.

It was all the proof one needed of The Joker's insanity.

Slowly Batman stood, his hands hooked under the madman's arms, lifting him to his feet, before picking him up wholly and putting him over his shoulder.

At least this would make things easier, he thought half-heartedly, moving to put The Joker back on the bed.

Gingerly, he held the thin man upright, carefully lifting the oversized shirt over his head so that he sat only in the underwear he'd been given.

The thought of this being easier was reinforced by knowing The Joker, incapacitated as he was, wouldn't be able to flirt and make shameless references as he usually would in such a situation.

Gently the detective felt along The Joker's torso, along his ribs. Sure enough, they'd been fractured on both sides, and the vigilante made note of this by speaking in to his recorder. He would need to bandage him. But first it was necessary he take photographs of the bruising and lacerations along the madman's skin.

And so he laid him back down, once again retrieving his digital camera, snapping pictures of the damage.

The Joker's body was bizarre, Batman thought. His skin was literally chalk white, over every square inch, though now one couldn't tell due to the bruising. He was long and thin, his abdomen slightly concave, his chest totally flat, skinny arms and legs, like a spider, but with wide shoulder's and immensely defined facial features, high cheek bones, a long, though not hooked nose like was often depicted in satirical cartoons of him, and a flat brow ridge which transitioned smoothly to his forehead. And of course, the startling contrast of his vividly green hair, and long, thin red lips. His eyes most especially were strange. They were a bright green, almost florescent, or neon, as though they glowed, _illuminated_ in the dark. And they were strikingly clear, with often pinpoint pupils at their center. The vigilante understood, looking at him, why so many who'd encountered him thought him more an apparition then a human being. He looked surreal, his appearance something Batman had never totally gotten used to.

When finally he'd finished documenting the lunatic's injuries, having to sit him up again to take pictures of his flayed back, the vigilante set about bandaging the open wounds and setting The Joker's now broken thumb and ribs.

From there, he once more dressed him and carried him to a holding cell he'd only just recently built. He wondered about the coincidental nature of it as he placed The Joker on to the cot inside, turning once more to look at him before he left, closing and locking the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

"Alfred…" Bruce called out once the grandfather clock had shut tightly behind him. "Alfred, are you there?"

Within seconds, the dependable older man appeared around the corner, making way towards his employer.

"Oh, thank heavens!" He breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the now unmasked vigilante. "I was worried sick Master Bruce. Haven't had word from you in over two hours time! And after you said you were bringing that… that… _degenerate h_ere!"

Bruce sighed, casting his eyes downward.

"He's here."

Alfred felt a tinge of fear rip through him, though his face remained stoic as ever.

"I see." The older man said.

Again, Bruce sighed.

"Alfred, I had no choice." He began, hearing the clear reservation in his butler's voice. "And I thank you for understanding, setting things up as I asked."

Alfred gave nothing but a silent nod.

A moment of silence past before Alfred again spoke.

"I trust you have our guest properly _restrained_, Master Bruce?"

The younger man nodded.

"Of course. He's in the holding cell."

"The one only recently erected?"

Again, Bruce gave a nod.

"He's so weak though, I'm scarcely sure it would make a difference whether he was there or not."

"Well, better safe then sorry, I always say." Alfred supplied.

Bruce looked up at him and smirked.

"Is that what you always say Alfred."

"When it comes to harboring escaped homicidal maniacs, I should think so." The butler replied with quick wit.

Bruce shrugged.

"You have a point." He agreed.

"May I ask Sir, what precisely befell the madman?"

"I have it recorded here. But to be succession, they've been abusing him at Arkham, beating and whipping him, dangerously long bouts of electroshock treatments, keeping him on a heavy dose of sedatives. He said it started after that last time I'd apprehended him, said they'd broken his arm and leg to ensure his immobility."

"And you believe him Sir?" Alfred sound incredulous.

The vigilante nodded.

"Yes. I examined him thoroughly. His skin is marred by immense bruising, some weeks old, some as new as the last week, and his back is literally flayed open. He won't ever be rid of those scars. And both his right arm and leg, as well as his collar bone have set at an odd angle, indicating a break and a disallowance of proper recovery. They had him in a straight jacket after fracturing his bones and he said it took him a week to figure his way out of it. By then the damage had been done. And his ribs are cracked on both sides."

"And you don't believe he did this to himself Master Bruce? Perhaps as some ploy hoping you would react just as you did?"

"No." Batman answered, shaking his head. "Believe me, that thought ran through my mind, but the damage is too severe to be self-inflicted, even for a masochist such as him. And the weight loss is something else. He's been literally starved. I gave him some of the soup you left and he actually threw up after eating it. His body's been denied any substantial solids for so long that it actually rejected the food. I've never seen him vomit before."

"And you're convinced he's sincere?" Alfred remained skeptical.

Bruce simply nodded.

"More then anything though, his demeanor tells me so. He's displeased. _Extremely_. He wouldn't be so if this were his own design. He doesn't believe anyone deserves to treat him like this. Frankly, neither do I."

"Really Master Bruce? It must be something terrible he suffered to make you say such a thing."

"He's _sick_ Alfred. He can't help his fractured mind. He can't help the way he was born. If I can understand that, then these doctors should too. But evidently, they don't. He needs _help_. Treating him like some unwanted animal will only make things worse."

Alfred was taken aback by the concern in his employer's voice. He'd never heard the master refer to the lunatic in such a way. Whenever The Joker was brought up between the two, it was always with disdain and venom.

"I see." The butler answered simply.

Bruce glanced over his shoulder, back to the clock before again turning his attention to his friend.

"Listen, Alfred…" He began. "Joker's wounds are severe, and on top of it, the maniac broke his own thumb just now trying to escape."

Alfred's eyes went wide.

"Oh my…"

"I know." Bruce answered, rolling his eyes. "He's crazy. But he won't get out of that cell. Not while I'm around." He reassured. "The problem is, until I can get Warden Sharp removed from Arkham, I can't have The Joker returned there. He explained to me that the reason Sharp did this to him was because he'd felt embarrassed by The Joker having escaped last time out under his watch. For it to happen again, I wouldn't put it past the warden to do whatever it took to make sure it never happened again."

"I see…" Alfred nodded, picking up immediately on what his employer alluded to.

"You understand why I wouldn't be comfortable with bringing him back then?" Bruce asked.

The older man gave a nod.

"I wouldn't normally be worried even. Not with The Joker. He's proven more then enough times he's capable of taking care of himself. He never would have gotten away from Arkham if he weren't so capable as he is. But he's been so severely weakened, that anyone choosing to have their way with him now very well could."

Again Alfred nodded.

"It will take the board of directors at least several weeks to review the evidence I've compiled and come to a decision, along with the police department. I'm certain though, seeing and hearing what I have, they won't hesitate to remove Sharp and bring him up on charges of gross negligence and abuse."

Bruce sighed, looking down.

"Until then, we have to keep The Joker here, as much as I hate doing so. You understand, don't you Alfred?"

"Whatever you deem appropriate Sir, I will support you fully. You know that."

"Thanks Alfred." Bruce smiled at the older man, placing his hands on his shoulders.

"In the meantime, I've got to deliver this evidence. But I don't want you in the house with The Joker alone. I don't feel he can get from that cell, but I'd rather be safe."

"Yes Master Bruce." Alfred agreed.

"So what I want you to do is go out and get some cloths for him. Mine don't fit him well and I can tell he'll become agitated over it. More agitated then he already is, in any event."

"Do you know his measurements, Sir?" Alfred asked.

Batman shook his head.

"Not entirely." He answered. "He's 6'5", I know."

"Oh!" Alfred exclaimed. "I never knew!"

"He's tall." Batman answered simply.

Though Alfred's surprise was anything but unexpected. Batman realized that most people who'd never encountered the maniac, for whatever reason, assumed him small. Certainly, smaller then himself. While in weight and width, that was true, The Joker was indeed an imposing figure in height. And when people were faced with him, they were often entirely taken aback by his physical presence.

The vigilante continued.

"He usually weighs in around 191, 192 lb. But right now I'd put his weight at somewhere between 130 and 135 lb."

"My word!" Again, Alfred grew shocked.

"He hasn't eaten anything substantial in months." Batman responded. "So to guess his waist, I would say, right now 28, 29, maybe 30" at most. He's _very_ thin."

Alfred nodded.

"I would also pick up a 31 or 32", because hopefully, we'll get him to fill out a little while here. I would estimate that's his usual pant size."

"Very well Sir. I shall purchase the requested items. Is there anything else?"

"Slippers for his feet. Make sure they're big."

"No shoes, Master Bruce?"

Batman shook his head.

"No. He can't have anything that could be used as a weapon."

"Oh, I see." Alfred nodded.

"And if you get back before I do, don't enter the house until I've arrived."

"Is he that dangerous Sir?" Alfred questioned. "I thought you said he was in rather a _weakened_ condition."

"Yes Alfred, he is." Bruce said pointedly. "I've seen him in seemingly compromised positions only for him to turn around and attack with as much deadly force as he usually does. One thing I've learned about The Joker is, you never underestimate him. He's unpredictable. _Truly_ unpredictable."

The older man didn't question him then, only saying that he understood.

From there, Bruce pulled his cowl over his head and turned back to the cave, while Alfred took up his coat and umbrella before exiting through the front of the house.

**

The Joker awoke with a groan, feeling the immediate crush of a headache.

He struggled for a moment with opening his eyes, and when finally he did, his vision was blurred and he rubbed at them vigorously to clear his sight.

As always, when waking, his mind had exploded in to an array of different thoughts and he again closed his eyes, attempting to focus, to remember what had happened.

When finally he pinpointed on the events of the last hour, he again opened his eyes and felt an immediate annoyance fill him.

"Damn him…" He whispered harshly, his voice coming out in a croak.

Moving to get up, he could feel his own body resisting, wanting him to be still. But he would have none of that as he forced himself from the cot, willing himself to stay on his feet despite the feel of imminent collapse. He had to hold his pants up to keep them from falling to his ankles.

The room was small, perhaps a few square feet larger then his cell back in Arkham. White walls, metal door, no window though.

"Solitary confinement then?" He laughed, moving forward, towards the entrance. He still felt immensely weak, and his vision blurred slightly around the edge of his sight. But he purposefully ignored the difficulties he was having, stepping with purpose. There was no way for him to see outside the cell, and he could tell from the muffled, heavy atmosphere of the place that the room was soundproof, making it impossible for him to determine activities outside, or who and what was there.

"Clever little Bat…" He whispered to himself, pressing his palm against the cool metal of the door before leaning against it, his ear pressed up along it. He heard nothing and rolled his eyes.

Soundproof.

Immediately he scanned the area, looking along each corner carefully. There was no furniture in the room, with the exception of the cot he'd been on, along with a toilet and sink, each bolted to the floor or wall. No chairs or tables, no shelving. His eyes then moved to the ceiling, noting the ventilation system, covered by a metal grid. That brought a smile to his lips as he moved under it, squinting up to observe the structure. He was tall enough to where he could reach and grasp the thing fully, letting the pants fall to the floor without another thought.

It was screwed in tight, and pulling on it as he was would have no effect. But that hardly deterred him. Enough weight placed on the thing would loosen it and he had an idea.

Pulling the slacks from his feet and off, he then looped them through the grate and managed to will himself the strength to pull his entire body off the floor while holding tight to the material. Swinging his legs up and to the ceiling, he then pulled with all the strength he had, gritting his teeth in the effort.

It was hard for him. He was weak and could feel himself sweating profusely. But his determination was as strong as ever, and even when his fingers began to ache and his lower body and shoulder sockets felt on fire, he held on, pulling, until, finally, after nearly five minutes of holding himself in that position, the grate began to shift, the screws pulling from the beams. This drove him harder still, pushing his feet against the ceiling more firmly as he tugged with his arms.

At last, after much persistence, the covering came loose completely, ripping violently from its hold, and it, along with The Joker, went crashing down to the floor.

It was a fair fall. Eight feet. And when he hit the ground, flat against his back, it sent a shock wave of pain from top to bottom, eliciting a sharp gasp. The pain didn't bother him; it was more the shock of it and his body's natural reaction to having the air knocked from it.

He rolled to his hands and knees from there, coughing abruptly before it turned to giggles.

"_Guano-breath must be out_…" He thought, "_Or he'd have come by now_."

Finally managing to stand, the pain in his ribs would have debilitated near anyone else, coursing through his torso. But he behaved as though he felt nothing at all, reaching down and pulling the pants back on before taking the grate in his hand, eyeing the thing closely before looking up to the now gaping hole above. It was too small to move through, but at least now he had a weapon. If he could manage to ambush Batsy with the thing, he might have a chance out of this place.

Of course, the problem lay in how to go about it. The Joker had no doubt the room was being surveyed, and if Batman rolled the footage back before entering, he would know what he'd done. An attack then would be impossible. With any luck though, he could hide the metal rack beneath the covers of the cot and hope the dear would come to examine him, get close enough for him to ram the thing over his head.

He felt his blood boil, recalling how he'd been put out. He'd have never allowed it if it weren't for his own body betraying him. The thought elicited a chuckle, the irony of a hard earned escape, only to fall almost instantly back in to captivity. A worse captivity at that. Batman would always be more difficult to free himself from. Though not near impossible, he knew. There was always a way out.

Moving again to the bed, he pushed the piece of metal tightly beneath the covers, lying atop it, one hand shoved under, resting along the would be weapon.

"Come on Batsy…" He spoke quietly to himself. "Come and get it…"

**

Alfred stood along the caves entrance and had been doing so for the better part of twenty minutes. The rain by then had stopped, but it was cold and late. He'd barely gotten to the department store before it had closed and his mood was growing more foul by the moment. If Bruce didn't return within the next ten minutes, he told himself, he'd be going back to the manor. Joker or no Joker.

As it was, Bruce did turn up, only a short while later, pulling up alongside the older man, the car's roof sliding open.

"The requested items, Master Bruce." Alfred held out the bags from the department store.

Batman took them, nodding.

"Thank you Alfred." He said simply.

The Butler gave a nod before turning on his heel, heading for the house.

The vigilante watched him before commanding the entrance open, pulling in and driving to the docking platform before leaping from the cabin. He eyed the holding cell across the cave before moving quickly to room's main monitor and pulling up its surveillance.

The Joker's sleeping form appeared on the screen. And Batman eyed it with suspicion, moving the camera around the rest of the area. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing that he could detect from the image in any event.

He sighed, reaching in to the bag Alfred had given him, pulling out the stack of clothing, wrapped neat in tissue paper.

There were shirts and slacks, all in a variety of bright colors, but nothing else other then a pair of soft slippers.

Batman chuckled lightly to himself. Alfred always delivered.

Flicking his eyes back to the monitor, The Joker continued in his stillness, and the detective supposed he ought to check on him, though he didn't particularly relish the concept. Taking up a single pair of pants and shirt, he moved towards the cell, reminding himself to stay cautious as he punched in the code to the electronic keypad, listening as the door opened with a swoosh.

The Joker had been listening for any sign he could, and when he heard the door unlock, he breathed in deeply, his grip tightening around the grate. He hoped Batman wouldn't notice the now gapping hole in the ceiling. He'd been careful to clean away all the debris and screws from the floor. He waited, stilling himself as much as possible as he heard footsteps approach behind him. He was going to have to time this exactly right and hit hard if he hoped for it to work.

Batman advanced slowly, keeping his eyes on the thin man. Reaching closer, he looked carefully for signs of breathing. Seeing none, he quickly became concerned, reaching out.

"Joker…" He said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

In the next instant, the madman suddenly shifted, violently, rising up with unexpected quickness, the metal grate in his hands. Batman was taken aback, clearly unprepared for such an attack, and a moment later, he felt a hard object crack across his temple, knocking him to the floor.

The Joker wasted no time in leaping from the cot, dropping the grate and making quickly for the cell door, again kicking the pants from his ankles as he pulled it open and ran out in to the cave.

The vigilante rolled to his knees and stood quickly. The cowl had absorbed the majority of the impact. It had been more surprise and lack of preparation which had caused him to go down.

He huffed angrily, dashing across the room after the lunatic, noting the grate along the way, inwardly cursing himself, again, for not expecting it. How in the hell had the madman gotten that thing from the ceiling?! He didn't have time to worry about that now though. He had to get to The Joker before he got his hands on some real weapon.

Moving out in to the cave, the sociopath was no where in sight.

Batman's brow furrowed. This wasn't good.

"Joker!" He growled loudly. There was no response. "Don't do this! You won't get out of here!" He was met with only more silence as he moved cautiously forward, scanning every inch within his view.

The Joker had moved quickly to find a hiding spot, but not knowing the area, and realizing Batman was fast on his trail, he'd had little opportunity, simply going to whatever cover he first came upon, behind a large chest of tools and crouching low. He could only hear the vigilante moving across the floor, he couldn't see him, and he shook his head at the position he found himself in. He had nothing to use against his captor, and he had no clue as to how to exit the place. He could feel his blood boil in anger.

Batman strained his ears for any sound he could, knowing The Joker couldn't be far. He knew he had every advantage. This was his ground. The Joker was out of his element here and weakened. Still, he was dangerous, no matter what. Especially when cornered, the detective knew the madman capable of anything, and would resort to whatever means necessary in order to ensure his escape.

The Joker knew he had only one option at this point. Batman would pass by him, and when he did, he would push against the tool chest he hid behind, hopefully in to the vigilante. Maybe from there he'd have a chance to grab a weapon from the spilled contents and then it would all come down to a physical fight. The chances weren't good, he knew, but he had no other choice at this point.

As it happened, Batman did pass by the chest and The Joker didn't hesitate, growling viciously as he pushed against the metal box, ramming it hard against the vigilante, knocking both to the ground.

Batman accessed immediately what had happened as he saw The Joker reach down and take up a large wrench.

"Damnit!" He spit, pushing the chest off as quickly as was possible, rolling away just in time to miss the wrench striking him against the shoulder. The madman wasn't playing, not this time. He wanted to get away.

The detective rolled to his feet fast and stood, facing the lunatic down. The Joker's eyes raged with insanity with his teeth bared in anger as he gripped the wrench tight in his hand.

"Joker! Listen to me!" Batman tried to reason, though he knew it was a useless endeavor.

"You should have let me _be _Batman!" He spit back.

"Why!?" The detective responded. "So you could _kill _Warded Sharp!?"

"YES!" The Joker screamed.

Batman stood starring at him in disbelief. There was actually desperation in the maniac's voice. It was a sound wholly alien sounding. One Batman had never before heard from The Joker.

It was frightening.

"Joker, listen to me…" He again tried, but the madman just shook his head.

"_No_!" He hissed. "_Damn _you Batman! Let me go!"

"You know I can't do that Joker." The detective responded calmly.

"Argh!" The Joker growled in frustration, shaking his head violently. And in the next instant, he lunged at Batman with as much passion as the vigilante had ever seen.

The detective fell back and to the side, avoiding the blow of the wrench by mere inches. The Joker turned quickly, his eyes mad. He was consumed suddenly by faintness, but ignored it, again leaping forward, weapon pulled back with intent. Batman once more side stepped, turning before The Joker could regain his balance, reaching out and taking hold of the thin man and pulling him forcefully back, spinning him round and throwing him across the ground.

The Joker scrambled to get up, still holding the wrench, his own light headedness nearly putting him back down. And Batman was quickly upon him, grabbing tight to his shirt before laying in to him with a right cross.

He had hoped it would be enough to put the lunatic out, but it wasn't as the madman continued to struggle against the vigilante's hold, literally attempting to bite at his hands.

"_Stop it_!" Batman spit, slapping The Joker across the face.

The sociopath wasn't listening, brining the wrench up to hit Batman along his forearm. But the detective quickly took hold of the maniac's wrist, pressuring the right point until he dropped the weapon. The Joker grabbed hold of the vigilante's own wrist then, starring into the masked man's face with deadly determination.

"._Go_!" He spit through clenched teeth.

"_No_!" Batman answered back, suddenly rearing a fist back and smashing it against the madman's face. Still The Joker wouldn't go out, glaring back at him with as much intensity as before. So the vigilante again hit him. But still the lunatic kept his gaze on him. His frustration growing, Batman hit The Joker again and again, harder each time, but The Joker's eyes never deviated from his own… he wouldn't go unconscious.

"Stop _starring_ at me!" Batman finally roared, once more rearing his fist back and smashing it hard against The Joker's jaw. And suddenly, the lunatic began to laugh, a quiet chuckle at first which soon grew to near uproarious laughter.

The detective's teeth ground together in anger.

"You think this is funny!" He hissed in to the madman's face.

At that point, The Joker had all but gone limp in the vigilante's hands, consumed by his own hysterics.

"Y-heeheehee-Your f-face-heehee!" He giggled maniacally. "If you could see your f-face-hahaha!"

Batman's expression turned pointedly in to a frown then and he could feel his own grip loosen as he starred back at his enemy.

And as abruptly as his laughter had begun, it cut off and The Joker again resumed to fix his gaze on the detective.

"You _enjoy_ it." He said, licking the blood from his lips, his tone suddenly as serious as his face. "You restrain yourself, and you think somehow that makes you better then me. But you feel the thrill, don't you? You take as much delight in it as I do, but you deny yourself its full experience because of some deeply ingrained code of morality, telling you its _wrong_." He laughed sharply then. "It isn't _wrong_! _You're_ wrong, you complete fool!" He continued in his hysterics. "You're entire life, everything you allow to guide you, it's all a lie! All of it! Don't you understand!? The basis on which you've built your existence, it's all a joke! A falsity! And you're miserable because, deep down, you know it's true! You deny your very nature and you're bitter for it!" The madman laughed harder still.

Batman fumed. He could feel his blood boil in rage.

"Shut _up_!" He raged suddenly, slamming The Joker down against the floor. The blow knocked the wind from the lunatic, and in the next instant, the vigilante came down hard on him, smashing an elbow against his temple, this time, knocking him cold.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

Batman had checked the air duct after placing The Joker back in his cell, this time cuffing both his wrists together, behind his back. He knew it would be uncomfortable for the madman, but he frankly didn't care.

The vent had been ripped violently from its screws, and Bruce looked back to The Joker suspiciously before again brining his gaze to the now damaged ceiling. There's no way the maniac would haven been strong enough to tear the thing away with his bare hands. Would he?

The vigilante shook his head.

No.

That's when he noticed the slacks lying on the ground, and, taking them up, saw the wear against the seams.

Huffing in annoyance, he exited the room and marched with purpose towards the cave's main computer grid, bringing up the security footage from the last two hours, winding it back to the beginning. From there, he fast-forwarded through the tape. Nothing happened through the first twenty minutes, but then he saw The Joker sit up and he stopped the process, watching carefully.

The psychopath was talking to himself, but his speaking had been so low that the audio had failed to pick it up well enough to hear. And then Batman saw him struggle to his feet. He could tell from the way The Joker moved that the action alone had taken a great deal of determination. Watching the madman observer his surroundings and then move towards the cell door, pressing his ear against it, Batman's brow furrowed.

The Joker was dangerously clever, and it was more then apparent from the footage that he'd been attempting to determine how he might escape his prison. The detective shook his head. The lunatic never stopped, did he? It was going to be hard to keep him. He'd already nearly escaped, and if anyone could figure a way out of that cell, he knew, it was The Joker. The sociopath matched his own skill as an escape artist, perhaps even surpassed it, when considering how far he was willing to go, how unhesitant he was to harm himself in order to get free from any binds.

Continuing to watch, he leaned in closer to the monitor when he saw The Joker move under the ventilation system. The lunatic had reached up and gripped the thing with his hands and Batman snorted at the thin man's height. Any one of his other enemies would have had to jump to reach the grate.

He felt his eyes go wide as he watched The Joker suddenly take off his own pants and loop them through the metal cover before lifting himself off the ground entirely and swinging his legs up, his feet pressed to the ceiling so he balled in to a curled position. From there Batman observed as the maniac pulled with intensity against the slacks. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing as The Joker held himself that way for several minutes before, finally, the grate came loose and he went crashing to the floor.

The audio was able to pick up the sharp gasp which had come from the lunatic, and Batman watched with even greater disbelief as The Joker rolled to his hands and knees and began to laugh.

He shook his head. This man was truly mad. With his current condition, his fractured ribs and the wounds along his back, he knew the pain caused by the fall must have been enormous. But The Joker didn't seem to even care, simply pushing himself to his feet, from there pulling the pants back on, then sweeping the debris under the bed before concealing the metal cover beneath the cot's blanket and laying atop it.

Batman stood then, shutting the monitor off in disgust.

His agitation was high, and while consciously he was putting it off to his having to stop The Joker from twice escaping, all in the same night, what truly was causing his disturbance was what the madman had said to him.

He told himself The Joker was wrong. He didn't enjoy it! He did what was necessary. The maniac refused to cooperate, refused his help, instead making it harder on himself. If he didn't act that way, Bruce would have no occasion to do what he did to him.

His brow furrowed, his mouth twisting in to a frown.

What the hell was wrong with him!? It was as though he were feeling guilt over having smashed the lunatic's face in. He reasoned within his mind that there was no cause to feel such a thing.

It was just the psychopath's ability to manipulate again. He always knew the right thing to say, or the wrong thing, whichever way one viewed it.

What perturbed him most was The Joker's insistence that Batman's entire world was predicated on nothing more then a lie.

_That_ was a lie, he thought bitterly.

But the lunatic's twisted tongue spun it so convincingly. He was so apt in instilling doubt. It made him incredibly dangerous and the vigilante knew it. He told himself he couldn't allow The Joker to infiltrate his mind that way. He had to keep him out. That was the madman's main form of attack. Emotional, mental. He could better spot a person's weaknesses then anyone the vigilante had ever known, and he wouldn't hesitate in the least to use those weaknesses to his advantage. Batman was _aware_ of this. So he told himself he had to steel himself against such offensive mounts from The Joker, try to engage him as little as possible in conversation.

Already he'd allowed the maniac to talk him in to a rage. He'd allowed himself to be talked out of control. And he knew that was exactly what The Joker had intended, had wanted.

It was an all around bad idea to converse with the man, he decided, moving away from the council.

He needed to rest.

**

By the time he'd awoken, several hours had past. Not that he would have known, being confined as he was. Still, he sensed as much. Moving to get up, he quickly realized his hands were bound behind him, and he felt his own eyes roll at the absurdity.

Glancing to his left, he noted a pile of cloths, lying beside the bed. So the sweetheart knew he was going to get out of these things, leaving him to dress himself. He giggled softly at the thought. In his earlier hast to get away, he hadn't bothered with dislocating his thumb, simply snapping it. Of course, now that it was broken already, he simply unset it, dislocating the other before slipping his hands through the manacles.

Eyeing the stack of cloths, he moved from the cot, picking the pile up gingerly and examining its contents closely. He scoffed at the make.

"Where the hell did he pick these up from? Nordstrom's?" He frowned, rubbing the material between his fingers. The colors were alright, blue and yellow, but the mix… Some kind of _blend_! Rayon and cotton, no doubt.

"No taste…" He grumbled bitterly before shrugging, pulling off the shirt he wore. He had no pants. Apparently, Batman hadn't bothered to redress him this time.

He laughed.

"Too disgusted, heh Batsy…" He grinned widely, slipping in to the shirt and slacks. They fit better, but still woefully off his measurements.

Well, they'd have to do, for now.

Looking about, noting that the ventilation system remained uncovered, he was about to move to examine the door, to pin point its weak spots, when he heard it unlatch from its lock, watching as it pulled open.

Batman's large frame filled the entry way, and he stood still as a statue, eyeing The Joker stoically.

The madman's eyes traveled to the vigilantes hands, noting he held a platter of food.

He smiled.

"Come to feed me again Batsy?"

The detective didn't bother to answer, moving in to the cell and shutting the door behind him, never taking his eyes from his enemy.

The Joker watched as he placed the tray on the floor, then stood, saying nothing.

"How sweet you are darling." The Joker kept grinning. "You know, you remind me of those school yard bullies. You know, the ones who endlessly harass poor, young girls because, secretly, they harbor a crush…"

He paused for effect, his smile widening.

"I'm your girl, aren't I dear?"

Batman could feel his muscles tense, his hands gripping in to fists.

"_Don't indulge him Bruce. Don't even acknowledge it._" He told himself, breathing in deeply to calm his nerves.

The Joker kept his eyes fixed on the detective, quirking his head to the side.

"The silent treatment, eh?" He laughed. "I understand. Don't want me getting in to that pretty, little head of yours; rattling around all the many pieces you try so desperately to keep hidden."

He paused, and took a step forward.

"Stay where you are Joker." Batman said, warning in his voice.

"Oh, but sweetheart, when has that ever worked?" The madman ignored him, continuing. "When has ignoring me _ever _stopped me from _getting_ to you?" He advanced forward.

Batman stiffened more.

"Joker, _stay_!" He spit, anger boiling up inside him.

The lunatic stopped momentarily.

"Oh, is that how you now regard me?" He chuckled. "As a dog? Oh, but we both know I'm far too cute. A puppy then? Perhaps?"

The vigilante said nothing, and so The Joker continued forward.

"You can pretend all you like cupcake. That I'm not there, in your thoughts. As though it will keep safe those dirty, little secretes. But you and I, we both know…" He stopped mere inches from where Batman stood, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "I can make you lose control whenever I damn well please…"

Batman felt a shot of rage explode through him instantaneously, his jaw clenching tight, his eyes going wide in fury. Suddenly, he'd lifted his hand, rearing it back to strike the madman across the face, and only did he stop when he heard The Joker's laughter ringing in his ears and he realized exactly what had happened.

He stared at the madman in disbelief, and The Joker simply continued to laugh, never taking a step back.

When finally his hysterics began to die away, he straightened, looking the vigilante pointedly in the eye.

"See?" He said simply, calmly.

Batman bristled, relaxing his stance, his hand coming back down to hang at his side.

They glared at each other for a long, few seconds before the detective abruptly reached out, taking hold of The Joker's shirt and pulling him forward.

"You listen to me and you listen _good_!" He growled. "Whether you realize it or not, I'm trying to _help_ you. But if you prefer, I can drop you off at Arkham's door step, no questions asked. And in your current condition…" He suddenly pushed The Joker away, hard enough so that the madman stumbled, falling to the ground. "I very much doubt you'd survive another session with Warden Sharp."

The Joker starred up at him, still grinning.

"Oh, but darling, you'd never do such a thing." He laughed. "You couldn't bare the burden of guilt, letting me go back, knowing what waited. It's against your _ethical_ standards."

Batman came in on him, leaning down to look him in the face.

"How does that make you feel, _Joker_?" He said quietly. "You're so proud, aren't you? So confident in yourself. So how does it feel? To know a two-bit quack like Sharp, a lowly _asylum_ director, was able to reduce you to a shivering, quaking mess of a man, barely able to stand on your own?"

The Joker shifted, his smile faltering for a moment, his face going blank.

"That's…" He began, but was cut off by Batman continuing.

"Kept and tortured. Starved. You just barely got away with your life. If Sharp was able to do it to you, Joker, it seems to me _anyone _could. You're _vulnerable_. And that's why you're so angry, isn't it? Because this is a wake up call. You like to think of yourself as something _more_ then human, as beyond the reach of others, beyond their influence and impact. You like to think you're above it all, above being _hurt_. But your _not_! You're just as susceptible as the rest of us. The great _clown prince of crime_, at the mercy of any who would have with him their way."

The Joker had stopped smiling completely then, his mouth now turned to a pronounced frown. He felt rage erupt inside him, consume him, and for a moment, he was blinded by the emotion, lurching forward to attack his tormentor, a murderous intent fueling him on.

"Shut _UP_!" He screamed, reaching his hands for Batman's throat. But the vigilante took hold of his wrists, easily overpowering him as he was wrestled to the floor, on to his back, the detective straddling him, hovering over, controlling his movement.

The madman struggled and strained against his captor, writhingly violently against the tight hold. But Batman refused to give, tightening his grasp before pinning The Joker's hands to the floor, along either side of his head.

"Let me _go_, _damn you_!" The lunatic spit, his eyes ablaze in fury, trying in vain to free himself.

The detective leaned in close to his face, and The Joker tried desperately to bite at him.

"You're right Joker, I _won't _bring you back. Not until Sharp and the guards who did this to you are removed. But I want you to think about how _lucky _you are that it was _me_ who found you and not someone else. Not one among your peers. Two-Face is walking the streets. I know he'd _love_ to get his hands on you. Not one of the many, innocent people of this city who you've made in to your victims. How many people would love to _end_ you? Take you someplace hidden and torture you for as long as they were able to keep you alive?"

The Joker fought more viciously, wriggling in furious desperation to get away.

"Let me _GO_!"

"Don't think for one minute that it wouldn't have happened either Joker." Batman went on, ignoring the madman's futile attempts against him. "You couldn't fend off a _child_ in your state. Anyone… _anyone_ could do what I'm doing now. Take advantage of you, subdue you… _control_ you."

The Joker went ballistic then, pushing against the heavier man with all the strength he had, a shrill, inhuman cry escaping his throat, like some vicious animal trapped and desperate.

Batman looked upon him in shock for a moment, at the absolute savagery he saw in the man, the insanity, before suddenly, he released his wrists and stood.

The Joker just laid there, his chest heaving with the exertion of his struggle. It seemed, for a moment, he hadn't even realized he'd been let go. And then, abruptly, he rolled to his knees and fell back, on to his bottom, pushing away until his back hit a wall. He kept his vividly light green eyes on the detective, a look of pure, unadulterated hatred flashing within them, before suddenly he stood.

"Nobody controls me…" He whispered, his voice coming out in a hiss. "Nobody!" And he stepped forward, intending to attack. He wanted so badly to _hurt_ the bastard. But he never got so far as again, his world became a sickening merry-go-round of rotating circles and he stumbled forward, falling hard to his knees, bile rising up in his throat, threatening to spill from his mouth.

Batman starred hard at him for a moment, saying nothing, his gaze intense.

"… I pity you Joker." He finally spoke, shaking his head. "I really do…"

And then he turned, walking back towards the cell's exit.

"There's food there." He waved to the tray, looking back.

The Joker's head hung low as he tried to will the vomit back down his throat, his fingers curling in rage, underneath his palms, digging hard enough in to the flesh to draw blood. He refused to humiliate himself further in front of this man.

"Eat it slowly, or you'll throw up again." The vigilante continued, opening the door. Before stepping out, he turned fully to face the madman.

"There's no revenge for you this time Joker." He said. "No satisfaction. You'll have to live with what's been done."

The Joker looked up at him finally, despite the room spinning before his eyes, his anger enveloping every fiber of his being.

"You're my prisoner now." Batman went on. "And under my watch… you won't be getting out."

With that, he turned, stepping out of the room, locking the door behind him.

The Joker's teeth ground hard together as his eyes shut tight. And he stayed in that position, on his knees, for several seconds until, finally, he could no longer hold in his anger, and he forced himself to his feet, stumbling uneasily over to the food tray and taking it up in his hands, hurling it with all his strength against the closed door.

"I DON'T _NEED_ YOUR GOD DAMNED _PITY_, BATMAN!" He yelled as the food and platter smashed against the metal entry, its contents flying all over the place.

All the madman could see was red as he spun around, looking for something, _anything_, he could destroy.

"_You're_ the one who garners pity! You wretch! Wallowing… WALLOWING in self-loathing!"

He nearly ran to the bolted on sink, taking the porcelain tight in his hands and pulling, leaning back so that all his weight was supported only by his hold on the thing, straining so hard to get the fixture from the wall that his face began to turn red with the effort.

And finally, it became too much, and he lost his grip, falling backward, on to his bottom.

He staggered to his feet again, running to the toilet, trying to lift the tank lid. But the thing was welded tight. So he clawed at the handle, trying to rip it from its spot, so persistent that finally his fingers began to tear and bleed.

Finally it was gotten and he starred at the small, plastic object for a moment, realizing at once its uselessness and raging further, slamming it against the floor so hard, it shattered. And he then moved to the cot, tearing the blanket and pillow away, digging his now bloodied fingers in to the material of the bed, attempting desperately to tear a hole through the thick covering.

It yielded no results and, finally, he gave up, turning violently and hurling himself towards the scattered tray, taking it up and driving it wildly, viciously against the metal door, over and over until the thing broke in to pieces.

And then he dropped suddenly to his knees, gripping his head between his hands, his fingers digging painfully in to his scalp as his eyes closed and his teeth ground together.

He looked as though he were in the worst kind of pain.

Batman had been watching all of this unfold on the room's security monitor, taken aback.

The madman was losing it.

Leaving the room, though he denied it to himself, Bruce had felt an all-consuming gratification at what he had done, finally wiping the smile from The Joker's face, _hurting _him the way he had. But he couldn't admit how much he'd enjoyed it, he couldn't accept he'd felt those things, felt immense satisfaction at overpowering and controlling the lunatic, at making him squirm and writhe. So he ignored the sensation, while at the same time indulging his curiosity to see how the psychopath would react.

Seeing what he now did though, he was suddenly consumed by a nagging feeling of guilt as he realized The Joker may very well hurt himself in his rage and desperation.

And his fear became reality as he watched the maniac again rise to his feet and move to the wall, suddenly smashing his own head against the metal repeatedly.

"Damnit!" Batman hissed, turning from the monitor and running for the cell.

Unlocking the door as quickly as possible, he rushed in and towards The Joker, wrapping the madman in his arms from behind and pulling him from the wall.

"Joker, _stop it_!" He growled against the thin man's ear.

But The Joker only fought viciously against the hold, flailing madly.

Bruce held tight, nearly losing his grip when he was thumbed in the eye.

It drove the vigilante harder to gain control as he forced the madman forward and down, until his lay flat on his stomach, Batman pinning his wrists to the floor.

From the position he now found himself in, and from the exhaustion of having exerted so much energy tearing the place apart, The Joker could barely move at all as the vigilante leaned down on him from behind.

Batman watched him carefully, noting his ragged and struggled breath, and finally the blood trickling from the lunatic's forehead, on to the floor, along with his bloodied fingers and again unset, broken thumb.

He shook his head.

"Joker, you have to stop…" He finally said.

He waited for his enemy to explode, to struggle against him, but The Joker just lay still, doing nothing, the side of his face pressed flat against the concrete floor.

"Let me up." He finally said, his voice quiet, calm even.

"If I let you up, are you going to go berserk again?"

The Joker said nothing, remaining still.

"If you do, I'll have to put you down." Batman warned.

When again the madman failed to respond, the detective loosened his grip before standing slowly.

The Joker didn't move for several seconds, just lying there. Batman made sure never to take his eyes from him. And finally the thin man pushed himself to his hands and knees, and then to a sitting position.

He didn't bother to go from the spot, to stand or address the vigilante, instead keeping his back to him, brining his knees up and hooking his arms around them, holding his wrist in his hand.

Batman breathed in deep, at last moving around to stand in front of the lunatic. He frowned when the thought entered his mind that The Joker looked very much like a child who'd had his feelings hurt.

The gash on his head was substantial.

"You split your head open." The vigilante spoke. "It'll need stitches." Glancing down to his hand, he again noted the broken thumb, nearly sighing in frustration. "And that'll need to be reset." He finished, wondering incredulously how the madman did these things to himself and still managed to stay alive.

The Joker hadn't yet looked at Batman, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.

Batman wanted to roll his eyes at The Joker's sudden childish behavior.

It seemed incomprehensible to him, how someone who's I.Q. had been measured at well above 190, as far up to 200, could at the same time display such immaturity, could so resemble a little boy, both in how he would carry and conducted himself.

The detective sighed.

"I'll gather what'd needed." He said, moving away. "And we'll get that done."

The Joker began to shake his head then.

"Let me alone…" He spoke finally, his voice a whisper.

Batman turned back to him.

"I can't do that Joker." He answered. "You require medical attention."

"What I _require_," The madman finally looked up to him. "Is to be left _alone_."

The detective shook his head.

"You either _let_ me stitch you up and reset that, or I'll incapacitate you and do it then."

The Joker just stared at him, his face twisted in to disgust.

He knew there was nothing he could do. No chance he had of fighting back. He was simply too weak. And the realization alone nearly threw him in to a rage.

The two men glared at each other intently for several seconds until, finally, The Joker looked away, again falling silent.

Batman watched him further for a long moment, at last taking that as his queue to leave and retrieve the supplies.

He hoped the madman would cooperate, just this once.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

It was mid afternoon, the day following his having found the lunatic on the street. Though he knew there was no way for The Joker to know how much time had past since then, considering he'd been unconscious for half that time. But less then a day he'd had him, and already he was causing more trouble then the vigilante could be comfortable with. He sighed, sifting through the medical supplies he had stored down in the cave, his mind distracted by what he had gotten himself in to.

What he really feared was that The Joker would escape, and if he did, then his entire world would be at risk. If the madman were to discover who he really was… He shook his head. He couldn't think like that. He just had to keep the maniac under lock and key until it was safe to bring him back to Arkham. It couldn't be that difficult to hold him, not in his current state.

He was so deep in thought that he hadn't heard nor seen Alfred descending the cave's staircase, and so jumped slightly when the older man cleared his throat loudly behind him.

Bruce spun around.

"Alfred, what are you doing down here?! I thought I told you to stay up in the manor!?"

Alfred didn't flinch at the vigilante's apparent displeasure.

"You did, Master Bruce." He agreed. "But you'll forgive my concern. Ever since you've brought that unfortunate man here, though I concede it's nary been a day, your time had been unusually consumed by an apparent need to keep watch over him, and you've been neglecting your own needs, it seems. You slept less then three hours this morning and you haven't touched the food I brought earlier."

Bruce sighed, turning away and rifling through the supplies again.

"Alfred, The Joker is dangerous. I don't want him getting wind of your presence. Please."

"I am _aware_ of the danger presented by the madman, Master Bruce. You needn't explain it to me as though I were a child. But my priority is to you, Sir, and I've seen this before. You becoming so immersed in what you regard to be your duty that you fall victim to your own determination and end up paying dearly for it later. There is work to be done _outside_ The Joker, Master Bruce. Need I remind you Two-Face is still at large?"

Batman turned to Alfred, starring down at him with a hard glare.

"Alfred…" He began as calmly as his nerves would allow. "Harvey isn't half the threat Joker is. Not _half_. _None _of them are. If he gets out of that cell…"

"You really think him _capable _of such a feat Master Bruce?" The butler inquired skeptically, as though the notion were ridiculous.

"I don't _know_ Alfred!" Bruce nearly yelled. "And that's the point. He's completely _mad_. He'd be willing to do _anything_ to free himself."

"Surely _not_ Sir. Everyone has their limits, whether aware of them or not, they eventually will find out." Alfred shot back.

Bruce again sighed.

"The Joker has no limits Alfred. He has no rules."

"He'll become aware of his limits when his body makes him aware, Master Bruce." The butler said with certainty.

The vigilante shook his head.

The old man was stubborn, and though Batman knew he had his best interest at heart, he simply didn't understand who, or _what_, The Joker was.

He would have to be shown.

"No." He answered. "You don't understand. He doesn't _care_. Look!"

And then he moved to the security footage, resetting it to the beginning. From there, he proceeded to show Alfred every instance of The Joker's own self-mutilation in the past 20 hours. How he'd pulled the grate from the ceiling and taken an eight foot fall to his back, laughing through the obvious pain it had caused. Snapping and dislocating his own thumbs. And finally, his most recent episode, tearing the place apart until his fingers were bloodied and in his growing frustration, slamming his head viciously against the metal walls, without even a hint of restraint. A few more blows, and it was clear he would have knocked himself unconscious.

Alfred watched with morbid curiosity, his expression twisted in to one of disbelief.

When at last the footage came to him having to physically restrain the lunatic from hurting himself further, Batman shut the tape off and turned to the older man.

"Do you see?" He asked. "He would _kill_ himself just to prove a point, to get his way. If he thought it would hurt you, if he just thought it would make a good _joke_, he'd die for it. He'd _gladly_ die. He has no regard for his safety or anyone else's. He _has_ no limits because he simply doesn't _care_." He shook his head. "He isn't afraid of me Alfred… He's the only one who isn't afraid. He's been violated in a way he thinks no one should be allowed to violate him, and he wants revenge. He'll do _anything_ to get away from me now. Even if it kills him, he'll do anything. I can't let him alone. For our safety and his own."

Alfred starred at him for a long moment before finally nodding, slowly.

He did understand. Now he did. He hadn't realized until just then, seeing how dismissive towards his own health The Joker was, how he had absolutely no hesitation in ravaging his own body, exactly what his employer had meant. He thought now that he better understood what Master Bruce had been saying all those times, when he'd come back from doing battle with The Joker, and he would describe to the older man how unstoppable the madman was, how uncontrollable. Just why he regarded the lunatic as more dangerous then the rest of his rogue's gallery combined. He'd thought Bruce had been exaggerating. He should have known he wasn't.

How did you stop a man who feared nothing?

Not even his own death?

"Is it a chemical imbalance? That causes him to… be that way?" The butler asked.

The detective shook his head.

"I don't know." He answered. "He's just that way. That's just who he is. Just _what_ he is."

"I see." Alfred nodded, though the explanation did little to quell the disturbance he felt over what he had just seen.

"I'll still be going out on patrol." The vigilante continued. "But I'll be cutting my time in half out there until we get joker back to Arkham. I need to talk to Dick, see if he can pick up the slack until then."

"I'll get in contact with Master Richard for you Sir." The older man offered.

"That would be good Alfred." Bruce agreed. "Listen…" He began, closing up a put together first aid kit. "I don't want you in the house while I'm gone."

Alfred eyed him incredulously for a moment.

"Really, Master Bruce, I must protest." He began. "I think I'm fairly capable of taking care of myself."

But Batman just shook his head.

"I'm sorry Alfred. I know you are. But The Joker... If he gets out of that cell while I'm gone and finds his way to the manor, and you're there alone…" He trailed off, his forehead creasing in worry. "I just can't risk that. If you like, you can take a vacation and I'll contact you once he's gone."

Alfred shook his head.

"No, Master Bruce. I've been to hell and back with you already and I'll be damned if I abandon you now."

Bruce smiled. He'd never known a more loyal man then Alfred. No one so stead-fast. He was one of the few people in the world who gave him a real sense of hope.

"Okay then." He said. "But promise me you'll at least leave the house while I'm on patrol for the next few weeks. Go out to the movies or something like that."

Alfred sighed.

"If you insist Sir." He conceded finally. "But only because it is what you desire." He straightened himself rigidly. "I won't be intimidated by some mentally handicapped degenerate."

"I know Alfred." Bruce nodded, smiling again. "But please. If only for me, then fine. But remember, The Joker may be mentally ill, but he's also incredibly intelligent. You shouldn't allow his sickness to lull you in to underestimating him. He _isn't_ incoherent, and he has an uncanny ability to pick up on details almost anyone else would miss entirely."

The butler nodded.

"Very well Master Bruce. As you wish. I shall contact Master Richard then."

The vigilante smiled.

"Thanks Alfred."

And he watched as the older man turned, heading back up the stairs.

He nearly sighed in relief when Alfred disappeared out of view, casting his eyes downward for a moment and sucking in a sharp breath before marching back towards the cell.

He had told himself he was going to interact with The Joker as little as possible in the lunatic's time here. And he still intended to hold true to that promise. Though now he had little choice. He had to repair the damage the madman had inflicted upon himself.

Punching in the key code, he found himself holding his breath as he pushed the door open.

He quickly spotted The Joker, who had by then moved from the spot he'd been left, having placed himself on the cot, now stained with his blood.

The maniac looked up the moment Batman entered, eyeing the detective intently before abruptly looking away.

The vigilante moved closer, cautious as always, stopping a few, short feet in front of his enemy.

The Joker did nothing to acknowledge his presence, his eyes focused on some non-descript spot along the bed.

"This will be easier if you sit on the floor and let me on the cot." Batman said, keeping his voice low but unthreatening.

The madman didn't respond. He didn't even move.

"Joker." The vigilante spoke his name in a scolding manner.

The Joker shifted then, rolling his eyes dramatically.

"What most likely would be _easiest_ is if you brought a _chair _in here, so we then could be _level_ to one another. But God forbid you ever should allow _that_!" He finally spoke, agitation dripping from his voice.

"Joker!" Batman spit, losing his patience. "Just get down."

The lunatic folded his arms, a smile spreading suddenly over his lips.

"You didn't say the magic wooooord!" He mocked in a sing song voice.

Batman could feel his pulse spike in annoyance. How was it that this man had only minutes before been completely out of control with rage, and was now acting as though none of it had ever happened, care-free and whimsical as ever?

"Joker, off!" He spit, in no mood for games.

"What are ya gonna do!?" The Joker looked up at him, still grinning. "_Force_ me off?! I mean, really! How hard is it to say 'please'?"

Bruce blew up then, reaching down suddenly, taking hold of The Joker's collar and lifting him off the bed, dropping him to the floor unceremoniously.

The lunatic starred up at him, looking suddenly more amused then he had before. And then he began to laugh.

"My, seems _someone's_ got a power complex, hmm?"

Batman starred down at him stoically, and as quickly as The Joker's amusement had appeared, it disappeared, his expression going flat. And he looked away, saying nothing.

The detective's face twisted in to a frown, again thinking the lunatic resembled nothing so much as he did a child. At times like this, when the madman looked as he suddenly did, Batman found it difficult to reconcile what he saw with what he knew The Joker was, what he was capable of. At times like this, he thought, The Joker seemed so vulnerable to him, almost… frail. And though he rationalized in his mind that he shouldn't, that there really was no reason to, he couldn't help it as a feeling of guilt would rise up in his gut, as though he'd somehow been the sole cause of the madman's misery; his fragility, like it was all his fault.

The vigilante sat down on the bed, pretending he hadn't just thought what he did.

"Give me your hand." He ordered the madman, holding his palm open and out.

The Joker lazily let his arm flop forward, in to Batman's grasp, still refusing to look at him.

The detective gently took hold of his enemy's long hand, popping the first aid kit open with the other and taking from it a bandage and flat, metal rod to straighten and hold the digit in place.

The Joker was slouched forward, again starring in to the wall intently, as if he were studying it.

Batman breathed in deeply through his nose, removing the wrap and rod from the lunatic's broken thumb and setting the items aside.

He examined the finger carefully for a moment, determining how best to go about resetting it.

"This is going to hurt." He warned when he was ready.

The Joker shrugged.

Bruce's jaw set more firmly.

The maniac had been unconscious when he set the thumb the first time, and so he hadn't felt anything. That wouldn't be the case now.

"This is going to hurt _a lot_." The vigilante pressed, trying to prepare the thin man.

The Joker's head snapped towards him suddenly, looking at him with clear agitation.

"Are you going to fix it, or continue to cringe over the crunch you'll hear? I swear Batsy, this is bothering you more then it is me." He said, frowning.

Batman looked back at him in silence, growing frustrated at The Jokers' dismissive attitude. He suddenly felt the desire to make the madman pay for his arrogance and without warning, gripped the thumb tight, snapping it back in to place.

The detective kept his eyes on lunatic's face as he did it, somehow hoping, deep down, to see his expression twist in to one of agony.

But The Joker didn't even flinch, instead fixing his gaze on Batman with unblinking intensity. The vigilante looked carefully for anything, any indication that he felt the pain, stress lines, sweat, a slight curling of the lips, his eyes watering. He knew the maniac felt it. He _must_ have. But he showed nothing. His expression completely blank, never taking his eyes from Batman's own.

Finally Bruce looked away, finishing the job, setting the digit.

When he released his hand, The Joker pulled it back, inspecting the work nonchalantly.

"Now your head." Batman said, nodding towards the open gash along the madman's hairline.

It had been dripping blood steadily, so that one side of his stark white face was now colored crimson.

The vigilante expected The Joker to react with some taunt, or to become uncooperative, but he just sat there, starring at Batman as he cleaned out the wound and from there, began to stitch it.

The room filled with silence as the detective worked, neither man speaking to one another, and after a few minutes, the gash was neatly sewn together and Batman began to fill the box back with the supplies.

"Don't pick at it." He said when he noticed The Joker touching the stitches.

"But it itches." The Joker replied, as though that would make all the difference.

"It'll itch worse if you keep that up."

The madman huffed, moving his hand away and crossing his arms.

"Did anyone ever tell you how closely you resemble an over-bearing parent?" He asked sarcastically.

"Yes." Batman said, standing, taking the kit in his hands. "You."

"Ohhh! That's right." The Joker grinned. "Well, I suppose someone's needed to keep you reminded."

"Try not to hurt yourself anymore." Batman said, ignoring the comment, moving away.

"Well, maybe I wouldn't _hurt_ myself if you didn't give me _cause_ to."

Batman stopped walking, eyeing the lunatic for a moment.

"Just don't…" He said, again turning, moving towards the door.

"Wait!" The Joker called after him, and the vigilante paused, halted by the sudden anxiousness he heard in the maniac's tone.

The madman rose unsteadily to his feet, walking towards the detective.

"So that's it, huh toots?" He moved around to face the broader man. "You're just gonna leave me in here with nothing to do?"

Batman starred hard at him for a moment.

"That's not my problem Joker." He said coldly.

The madman smirked at that.

"No." He answered. "But I can make it, very easily."

The detective stiffened and he glared at the man before him with seeming scrutiny.

It was a threat.

And he knew The Joker always kept good on his threats.

"What do you want?" He asked, begrudgingly.

The lunatic seemed to light up at this, any sign of his previous displeasure vanishing.

Bruce was sure then that one of The Joker's many clinically diagnosed mental disorders, manic depression, was in fact accurate.

"What fun!" The lunatic nearly giggled, clasping his hands together in delight. "Really, it's nothing so demanding. It's fairly a simple task, keeping me entertained."

He began to pace back in forth in front of the vigilante, gesturing as he listed his "demands".

"Books." He began. "Lots and lots of books. I like to read and I read _fast_." He turned to Batman. "Anything you have, anything you can get. They don't let me have them back in dear ol' Arkham."

"That's because the last time they made that mistake, you bludgeoned a guard half to death."

The madman waved his hand.

"The man displayed to me grotesque ignorance of the text's contents." He shrugged. "I merely was attempting to help enlighten him on the subject."

Batman's expression twisted in to disgust. The Joker ignored him, continuing.

"And in an event, what's the matter with soft-covers? Afraid I'll paper-cut you to death?"

The detective starred at him incredulously for a moment.

"Fine." He answered finally. "Books. What else?" He pressed, knowing that couldn't be the extent of the madman's wants.

The Joker's smiled broadened in satisfaction and he again began to pace.

"Playing cards." He said.

"Playing… cards?" The vigilante questioned suspiciously.

"Keep's me occupied." The lunatic stopped. "Practicing my _tricks_." He laughed sharply.

Batman mulled the request over silently, wondering if there were any way the maniac could use a deck of cards for something beyond their original purpose. They didn't allow him those things in Arkham. But then, they didn't allow him anything there. He was notorious as one of the asylums few patients to be banned from possessing any material objects outside an issued uniform and toilet paper. He was simply too dangerous. But thinking it through, the detective could find no good reason to deny The Joker something so simple.

He knew the maniac was a master of magic and card manipulation, and early on, when he'd first been admitted to Arkham, the staff had allowed him to put on magic shows for the institutes other residents.

He remembered hearing, in the beginning months of his first stay there, that The Joker's display of skill had been a huge hit among the population, employees and inmates alike, and that, during the once weekly talent shows, the madman's act had been the most looked-forward to. That was, until one day, when supposedly Two-Face had heckled The Joker while on stage, calling out that his entertainment was "no good" and "amateurish".

The Joker had replied by flicking one of his playing cards at Harvey's face, somehow angling the thing so that it sliced the former DA's face open, a cut wide enough to require stitches, before jumping down, grabbing the nearest chair he could get his hands on, and proceeding to beat Dent over the back with it before he finally was pulled off.

He hadn't been allowed to put on any more shows after that.

Soon following, the maniac would be banned from both the cafeteria and the recreation room. It quickly had been determined that he was much too violent, much too unstable, and worst of all, much too influential to dine or socialize with the asylums other patients.

Like most things having to do with the lunatic, Batman had little to no idea how The Joker had come to be so adept, so expert at magic, slight of hand and card manipulation. He knew the psychopath learned it from somewhere, or someone. But the thin man's life, before he'd become known to the vigilante, was an utter mystery. He sometimes suspected The Joker himself didn't actually remember. Though he was a pathological liar, an extremely _smooth_ liar, and so he made it near impossible to tell what he actually did and did not know.

The detective thought about it a short while longer before concluding that the madman could do no _real_ damage with a pack of cards. He thought angering him by denying it would be more of a risk, and so he nodded.

"Alright." He said.

"Good." The lunatic nodded in approval. "Now, there's just one last thing."

Batman looked at him with apprehension.

"What?"

"I want you to come and spend time with me. Just for a little while each day. Maybe an hour."

The vigilante looked at him in clear disbelief for a moment.

That was exactly what the madman wanted, for Batman to expose himself to his mind games. To allow himself open to psychological and emotional attack. That was how The Joker operated, how he _got_ you. By coaxing you in to conversation with him. Once he got you talking, once he got you to let your guard down, that's when he would move in, and you'd be in a world of trouble. The Joker could use anything, _anything_, against you. The smallest, seemingly insignificant detail, he could use to totally unravel another person completely. All it took was a little bit, a small amount of information before he could nail you down with deadly accuracy, determine your "true person" as the vigilante had hear him say. What your desires were, your fears, your loves and your hates. And once he had gleaned those things from you, the detective knew, he would hesitate not at all in using them to hurt you, to break and bring you down to whichever level he wished you to be at. Batman had witnessed this innumerable times between the lunatic and others who had the unfortunate circumstance of being his doctor. The instances of psychiatrists stepping down from his assignment, of retiring from their profession _completely_ following sessions with him were many. He was notorious among Arkham staff and very rarely were the board of directors able to convince any resident doctors to take him on as patient. Normally, it was required they bring in an out-of-town physician, one who had no previous connections to the institute, before they were able to continue his therapy treatments. More often then not, those who did conduct the treatments wound up needing therapy themselves. In some extreme cases, The Joker's doctors had ended up themselves as patients of Arkham Asylum, driven literally _insane_ by the madman.

Less fortunate still were those who found themselves in the cell neighboring the lunatic's own.

It was a common occurrence for these sad souls to be found dead, their life taken by their own hand, or escaped, only to commit crimes which had no resemblance to their previous M.O. Crimes which seemed completely out of character.

And though no one ever said anything, everyone knew it was The Joker's doing. He would talk them in to the acts. In to hurting themselves, killing themselves. In to escaping and committing violent, horrendous deeds. He would tell them how to get out, often giving his own escape plans to them, rather then escaping himself. To him, it was a game, something _fun_ to do.

They'd tried keeping the cell next to The Joker's own empty, but the madman had found a way around even that, using Morris code to communicate to other patients, or, somehow, having notes delivered to them. Nobody knew how, or at least, nobody was saying.

Batman knew it was the maniac's influence over the guards. He would talk them in to doing him favors. No one in contact with the sociopath was safe from his manipulations.

_Any_ contact, verbal, physical, or otherwise, was dangerous.

The truth was, despite his mental handicaps, The Joker was frighteningly intelligent. The only person the detective knew who matched his own depth of perception. And though the vigilante was confident in his own abilities, fairly sure of his invulnerability against malicious influence from others, he still thought it best, and wisest, not to press his luck when it came to the thin man before him. It was why, whenever engaging the lunatic, Batman spoke to him as little as possible, other then occasionally telling him to shut up.

It was a regular practice of The Joker's to try and goad the vigilante in to saying more, and though the crusader would refuse, even then, the psychopath would manage to, somehow, get under his skin.

So, no, he wouldn't fall for so blatant a trick.

He shook his head.

"No Joker. I can't do that." He said flatly.

The Joker starred at him incredulously for a moment, as though he scarcely could believe he was being denied, before he broke in to a wide grin.

"Oh, come now Batsy, don't be such a spoil-sport. It's not as though I'm asking for _personal favors_." He raised his eyebrows suggestively, then laughed.

Batman glared coldly at him.

"No." You'll have your books and cards, but that's _it_." He answered, before moving around the lunatic, towards the exit, making certain to pick up the pieces of the shattered food tray along the way.

He then flipped open a pouch on his utility belt, reaching in for the cardkey he used for unlocking the door from inside.

He looked down when it seemed he was grasping at thin air, his eyes growing slightly wide when he found the pocket empty.

"Mmmhmm!"

His head snapped up at hearing The Joker clear his throat loudly and he spun around, facing the madman.

"Looking for this?!" The lunatic was holding the electronic strip between his long, bony fingers, smiling mischievously.

Batman's teeth ground in sudden rage and he lunged forward, taking hold of The Joker's hand, crushing his fingers until the key was dropped.

"Ow!" The thin man laughed, massaging his hand in mock concern, watching as the crusader bent to pick up the card. "What's the matter sweetheart? Can't take a joke?"

The vigilante rose, reaching out, grasping the maniac by his shirt and pulling him forward.

"If you _ever_ pull anything like that again…" He breathed angrily. "I'll beat you so hard, you won't remember your own name."

And then he pushed the madman away, turning to leave.

"I _already_ don't remember darling!" The Joker said, watching as he slid the key through the pad, the door unlocking the next instant.

"Batman…" He called after the detective one last time.

The vigilante stopped, his back still turned.

"If you don't do what I ask, if you don't come and spend time with me…" He paused, his voice suddenly serious. "I'll make you sorry. I _promise_ I will."

Batman stood still for some moments, saying nothing, before finally exiting, the door locking tight behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

Batman closed his eyes for a moment, leaning back against the cell door, releasing a breath he'd been holding.

That was bad.

After he'd thought about how foolish Warden Sharp had been in allowing The Joker so close, he'd done the exact same thing, and the madman had shown to him exactly what a mistake it had been.

He felt suddenly anxious, the thought that The Joker may have lifted something else arising in his mind, and he began to search his belt for anything missing.

Only was his tension relieved when he realized everything was in place and he relaxed back, shaking his head.

He would have to be more careful.

Thinking about it, he knew The Joker hadn't eaten since the day before and that he'd thrown most of what he had up. The detective knew, in good-conscience, that he should bring another meal. But there it was again, that desire to make the madman suffer, especially after the little trick he'd just pulled. So much for helping the lunatic gain back the weight he'd lost. Batman bristled. It was The Joker's own fault. He'd tried to give him more food, but the psychopath had tossed it against the wall in anger.

Well, now he'd just have to wait. The vigilante needed to prepare for his nightly patrol and see to Alfred, make sure he left the house beforehand.

**

It was a slow night. He'd been out for several hours, and beyond busting up a few dime store hold-ups and car-jackings, there hadn't been much.

And so he dialed out to Alfred, and seconds later, he heard the older man's voice filter through.

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"Alfred, I'm done here and heading home."

"Very good Sir." Alfred answered.

"Where are you?" Batman asked.

"I've just come from the movies Sir and am heading back to the manor as we speak."

"Oh!" Bruce smirked. "See anything good?"

"Hardly." The butler answered lethargically. "Some dreadful romantic comedy starring some no-talent twit I've never before heard of."

"And you would know too, wouldn't you old man?" Batman laughed.

"I _would_, Master Bruce." Alfred replied, clearly amused.

The vigilante smiled.

"Alright Alfred. I'm heading home now. If you get there first, _wait_ for me to arrive before entering the house." He instructed, his voice more firm.

Alfred rolled his eyes at the other end, feeling still that his employer was being over-cautious, but complying nonetheless.

"Very well Sir." He answered before cutting the connection.

**

As it was, Bruce arrived before the older man, parking the car before heading up to stand near the mansions garage, awaiting Alfred's arrival.

It would come only minutes later as the detective watched the Rolls Royce pull down the driveway.

He followed the car inside, standing aside as the butler emerged from the vehicle.

"Good night Alfred?" He asked, knowing what the answer would be.

Alfred glared up at him.

"Pleasant enough." He replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Bruce chuckled.

"Sorry." He apologized, knowing the older man would much rather have spent the evening at the manor. "It's just in case."

"I understand, Master Bruce." Alfred nodded. "Please, do not concern yourself. It isn't as though I were _tortured_."

Batman frowned, following the butler inside, through the kitchen.

Alfred was clearly less then pleased, making reference to the vigilante's apparent concern over what had happened to The Joker.

"Listen, Alfred, it's only temporary. Until I can get the warden removed." He explained as they moved through the manor.

"Yes Master Bruce, that is perfectly understood." He stopped suddenly, turning to face his employer. "My displeasure is not with my having to _leave_ the house Sir. It is with the fact that you've placed yourself, in my opinion, in unnecessary danger by harboring that criminal. After viewing that security footage, as you have, I've come to the conclusion that that lunatic is capable of _anything_ and will stop at nothing to escape your grasp. And I fear he _will_."

The vigilante felt his expression turn in to a frown and he glanced down.

"I know." He answered, his voice low. "And believe me when I tell you I'm as uncomfortable with this as you are…" He sighed, pausing. "But you understand _why_ I can't bring him back… not yet. I _save _lives Alfred. I don't risk or endanger them. Even if it's a life everyone else thinks isn't worth saving, I can't in good conscience turn a blind eye to what's happening. If I brought The Joker back to Arkham now, it's very likely they would kill him. He's weaker now then I've ever seen him before…"

"He didn't look so very _weak_ to me, Sir." Alfred interrupted.

"He _is_." Batman pressed. "He has an indomitable will, he pushes through pain like no one, and he can fool you in to thinking he's strong, even when he's anything but. I _know _The Joker Alfred, know what he's like when he's operating full throttle, and I can tell you right now, at best he's at a quarter of his usual abilities. If he got killed because of my negligence, because I brought him back when I knew what would happen…" He shook his head. "I couldn't live with that Alfred. I just couldn't."

The butler sighed, looking down.

"I understand that Master Bruce." He said, looking up. "And I would never ask you to compromise your beliefs. I merely am worried for your well-being. If that maniac were to ever discover your true identity…" The older man trailed off, shuttering at the possibilities.

"I know." Bruce answered. "That concerns me too. But I promise you…" He put his hand on Alfred's shoulder. "that won't happen."

"Just be careful, Master Bruce. I want you to remain safe. As safe as you can, given what you _do_, in any event."

Bruce smiled.

"I will be Alfred."

The older man gave a nod.

"Now, would you like dinner, Sir?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Now that you mention it." The vigilante answered. "I am pretty hungry."

"Coming right up then." Alfred began to move for the kitchen again.

"Oh, and Alfred." Bruce called after him.

The butler turned.

"If you could make something extra, for him." He nodded his head down to indicate whom he was speaking of. "He hasn't eaten since yesterday, and he wasn't able to keep most of that down. If we're going to get him healthy again, he'll need to eat."

"Yes Master Bruce." Alfred again nodded, before once more turning.

The detective sighed.

Now to see about those books, he thought, heading for the library.

**

He'd searched for some 30 odd minutes, trying to find books which he felt might interest the lunatic. Though he had absolutely no clue _why _he was trying so hard. And it was down-right impossible to know what the clown would and wouldn't like. So eventually, the vigilante just settled on a pile ranging from fiction to biography to science.

"_That ought to keep him occupied for a while at least_." He thought, just as Alfred appeared in the study, announcing that dinner had been served.

Bruce ate quickly, eager to find his way back to the cave. He felt uncomfortable, not having his eyes on The Joker.

And so once he had finished, he grabbed the extra tray Alfred had brought and, pulling on his cowl, headed again for the study, towards the grandfather clock.

Descending the stares, he knew right away something was off when he spotted the computer monitors flashing with images.

He hadn't left it on, he was sure.

Reaching the bottom, he moved forward slowly, scanning the area for anything else unusual. Glancing to his right, he noticed the door of the cell on the other side of the cave was still closed and he felt a mild bit of relief.

Continuing towards the monitors, he stopped abruptly and his pulse began to race as a flash of green hair appeared suddenly over the back of the work stations seat.

"JOKER!" The vigilante screamed his name, dropping the tray and books, rushing towards the chair.

Immediately the madman spun around, facing the charging vigilante.

"Oh, darling!" He exclaimed, a massive grin plastered across his face. "I've been awaiting your arrival!"

Batman didn't even wait for the words to be completely expelled from The Joker's mouth, instead taking him by the collar of his shirt and lifting him with ease from the chair.

"How did you get out?!" He spit in the lunatics face, holding him off the ground.

The Joker only continued to smile, grasping hold of the crusaders gloved hands.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He laughed.

He saw the unmitigated rage in the coweld man's eyes, and it made his smile widen even further.

In the next instant, Batman drove the maniac down, in to the stone floor of the cave, the sociopaths head slamming and bouncing from the ground, nearly knocking him unconscious, causing the room to spin in dizzying circles. And he exploded in to laughter then, still gripping tight to the detective.

"HOW DID YOU GET OUT!?" Bruce screamed in to his face, consumed by fury and uncertainty.

"I-it was easy dear." The Joker chocked as the crusader pressed harder against his throat. "W-why don't you c-check that-ghack-that security f-footage of y-yours?"

But Batman wasn't really listening. It was like some sort of nightmare unfolding before his eyes and it was causing him to lose control. Instead he again lifted the madman from the floor and literally carried him to the computer's control board, slamming him down against it.

The blow knocked the wind from the lunatic and he began to wheeze and cough with the loss of breath.

"TELL ME HOW!" Batman again screamed, and before giving the thin man a chance to answer, sunk his fist hard in to his face.

The Joker's nose exploded in blood and the taste of copper filled his mouth.

"H-honestly Bat-Babe, how do you ex… expect me to answer you when you…" He began, but was cut off by another blow to his face, and only a moment later, was again off the control board and being swung around, released mid-air to fly across the floor.

He landed hard against his side, a sharp gasp escaping his throat as pain shot up his torso, radiating to every part of his body.

He had scarcely time to turn over before the vigilante was again upon him, leaning down and pinning his hands to the ground above his head.

"Tell me!" He hissed.

The Joker smiled, his teeth now smeared in blood.

"T-this is… what you get… sweet-cheeks…" The madman sputtered, trying to clear his breathing as bubbles of blood filled his nose. "W-when you… when you i-ignore me…"

"What are you talking about!?" Batman raged, leaning in harder.

The Joker giggled madly, hacking in between.

"Y-you… refused me your t-time…" He answered, still having trouble breathing. "You think… you think you can just keep me here?!" He laughed. "W…what do you think of all my escapes f… from Arkham, hmm? You think they… they haven't tried everything you h… you have? Nothing yet has been able to… to hold me! I can _leave _anytime I… I want. I could have l-left while you were off… doing whatever the hell it is you d… do."

Batman lifted him in to the air suddenly, his teeth ground in anger.

"Not if I break you worse then before." He hissed lowly.

The Joker erupted in to hysterics, shaking his head.

"You had to be _shown _darling. You may fancy yourself in… control. You may… you may think you have the _luxury_ of picking and choosing which of my desires to… to grant, but… but you _don't_. You either will keep me p-_pleased_, or I'll take my…I'll take my leave of this place. And I may choose to not slip away so… so quietly if your failure to _try_ so blatantly continues."

The vigilante saw red, his anger consuming him wholly as the madman taunted him… _threaten_ him.

"You _basterd_!" He raged, his grip tightening around the lunatics collar. "You dare to threaten _me_!? I could snap your neck right now!"

The Joker starred at him with narrowed eyes.

"But you _won't_ Batman!" He shot back. "And even if you _meant_ it, even if _your_ threats weren't so utterly _shallow_, you think I would care!? It's all such a joke! And unlike the rest of the cattle, unlike _you_, I don't _blind _myself to death's ultimate inevitability. I don't _neglect_ its acknowledgement or pretend that by doing so I somehow can will it away. It comes for me! It comes for you! It comes for all of those pathetic, worthless, self-important pigs out there who think their menial existence is of actual _consequence _to the rest of the universe! It doesn't matter Batman! When are you going to learn!? No matter how many lives you _save_, you haven't really _saved_ anyone at _all_. They're all going to die! Someday, somehow, their lives will end. Oh, they may extend their time in this world, but no matter how hard they try, no matter how _thoroughly _they _delude_ themselves, their end is inexorable. It _cannot _be escaped. So why worry yourself over it? Why concern yourself with something so absolutely unyielding? That's the trouble with you and everyone else. You're always trying your damndest to control what cannot be."

"They why don't I bring you back to Arkham right now!? And you can accept your unavoidable death!?" Batman spit. "If you really are so unafraid to die, then why did you save yourself from Warden Sharp!?"

"I didn't _save_ myself from the sorry sap because I was _afraid_, _babe_! I saved myself because this game is far too much fun to have end on such a mundane note. When I go, I want to go in a blaze of glory, taking as many of these losers with me as possible, and with _you_ squeezing that last breath of life from my lungs! _So _much more enjoyable, don't you think?! And that's _life_, my love! A game for us to extract as much fun from before it all comes crashing to a deadened _halt_!"

"NO!" Batman spit, suddenly swinging The Joker around, again releasing him and letting him fly through the air, only to crash against the compute consul. The madman fell to the floor, and the pain ripping through him now was nearly crippling, even for him, as he struggled to his knees.

"You're wrong!" Batman fumed, coming at him lightening quick. "Life isn't some _joke_! It isn't some _game_! It _means_ something!"

The lunatic looked up at him as agony coursed through his body.

"_What _does it _mean_ Batman!?" He yelled back. "What _significance_ do these people's lives _have_ in the universe!?"

The detective didn't answer back, instead gripping him by his thick, green hair and pulling him to his feet.

"What sweetheart?" The Joker starred him in the face, holding to the vigilante's hand. "Are you refusing to tell me, or is it that you simply just don't know?"

"You're a monster!" The vigilante said between gritted teeth. "Not worth saving."

"Then why don't you bring me _back_ and stop with the mere _pretension_ that you will?" The lunatic spit, his own anger now evident.

Batman's head was swimming with indignation, overwhelmed with a sudden hatred for the man he now held by the hair, torn between wanting to just leave him for dead and his moral code, knowing deep down the guilt from such an act would be overbearing.

He hadn't a clue how the madman had escaped. But somehow he had, and though the detective despised its admittance, the fact unnerved him greatly.

The Joker, it seemed, with this one act alone, was impossible to keep prisoner. And what was worse, Batman couldn't understand why, having gotten out from the cell while he was gone, the maniac _hadn't _escaped. Why had he stayed when he could have easily gone? Like most things with the sociopath, it made little, if any sense.

Abruptly he released his enemy, watching as he fell to the floor, blood still flowing freely from his nose and mouth.

"What do you want!?" Batman questioned. "You've proven you can get out, so why didn't you leave?"

The Joker looked up at him, wiping the blood from his chin with the back of his hand, his eyes glistening and bright and bloodshot. He looked tired and weak and sick, and slowly he stood, pushing himself with great effort to his feet, touching his fingers to above his lip, feeling the split running along its top edge and looking at the crimson liquid now covering his long, white digits.

"I just want you to spend time with me." He said in a voice so quiet it barely was audible.

Bruce looked at him incredulously.

"And what does that entail? You trying to bludgeon me to death with some concealed weapon?! Or maybe trying to unravel my mind with you snakes tongue!" He spit, anger dripping from his words.

The Joker shook his head, fixing his gaze to the floor.

"Just to talk." He whispered. "Maybe to play a board game, if you have any. Perhaps to dine with me. That's all. Nothing more… Just your time. If you give me that then I promise, I will not escape. I'll let you take me back to Arkham whenever you see fit to do so, without a struggle."

It seemed to the detective that all viciousness had sapped from the man before him, and all that remained was a subdued, seemingly saddened individual, almost desperate in his manner. And what he was asking, it was as though he longed for nothing more then Batman's companionship, and it struck the vigilante as wholly bizarre.

It _had_ to be a trick. He just knew it. All this man did was play games.

But weighing his options, and considering the now apparent circumstance, that The Joker could very well get out at any time, he thought it better that the one endangered was him rather then everyone else. And though he had no guarantee the psychopath would keep his word, he really had no choice.

He realized, with great disturbance, that he was now in somewhat a compromised position. He supposed he could try restraining The Joker with more extreme methods. Drugs wouldn't work. The madman had, over the years, shown an unnatural resistance to all form of sedatives and depressants. Batman and others in the medical profession had determined it was his body's unusual chemical balance which caused this resilience, no doubt the effect of his having fallen in to that chemical bath, all those years ago.

He would have to find out exactly _how_ he'd gotten out. The trouble being, the holding cell was the only one in all the cave. Though Batman had thought it nearly impenetrable, as it sported an extremely sophisticated, electronic lock system, sealing both from inside and out.

Keeping him cuffed wouldn't work either, as he'd proven more then once that manacles did nothing to hold him, nor would a straight jacket, no matter how advanced.

Anything short of stringing him up by rope fastened tight enough to affect his circulation wouldn't do, and even then, it wasn't assured that he couldn't also worm his way out. What's more, by doing that, he risked angering the lunatic, in fact, _knew_ he would, especially after having suffered what he did back in Arkham. And the last thing he wanted was this man angry, only for him to escape and seek out vengeance on _him_.

It wasn't that he was worried for himself. He wasn't. He was worried for those close to him. Dick, Tim, Barbara, Jim. The Joker would know to target them all, and he very possible could find out Batman's identity if he were to escape, thus making Alfred a target as well. And he knew the maniac wouldn't hesitate in attacking either of them.

It wasn't worth the risk, not when he could appease the sociopath by simply granting his request. Though he didn't relish the thought of exposing himself to The Joker's particular brand of _socializing_, it was better then the alternative by far.

He looked at the thin man, calming himself to speak. He still felt an all-consuming anger, but knew if he allowed it to continue, he may very well beat The Joker beyond recognition, and then he'd be no better then those barbarians back at the asylum, letting his frustration and discomfort get in the way of his ethics.

"Alright." He breathed out slowly. "I'll do what you ask, so long as you don't break your promise."

The Joker looked at him pointedly.

"I'll do as I say so long as you don't break _yours_." He pointed at the detective.

Batman bristled. Did this man have to make everything so God-damned difficult? Did he have to be so rebellious against _everything_?

"Joker, if I keep my promise to spend an hour with you each day, and you then try to escape, I'll make you _pay_." He said, pressing his finger painfully in to the thin man's chest to emphasize his point.

"There's no cause for concern, darling." The Joker answered, brushing Batman's hand away. "You should know by now, I _always_ keep my promises."

Again the crusader noticed the madman's frailty, how weakly he pushed his hand aside, and he felt suddenly bad over how severely he'd just beaten him, glancing at his battered and bloodied face. The lunatic usually could hold his own in a fight, though he never was any physical match for Batman. But now, he couldn't defend himself, even if he wanted to, and again the vigilante was overcome with the very distinct image of The Joker as a child, being picked on by a grown man.

Damnit, he wished he could stop seeing the murderer that way! Because that's what he was! A murderer. And he reasoned with himself he should be feeling no real sympathy for the psychopath, mentally disabled or not.

"By the way…" The Joker again began. "Nice computer. Very simple system, easy to figure out. I've always had difficulty with that sort of thing. Internet and software and downloads and the like…" He waved a hand. "What a ridiculous world we live in, hmm?" He starred at the detective, a smirk on his face.

Batman looked away, back towards the fallen books and food, breathing in deeply.

Now he'd have to get yet _more_ food prepared. Things just weren't going his way it seemed.

He turned back to the madman.

"What did you do?" He asked, eyeing the computer monitor.

The Joker shrugged.

"Nothing." He smiled. "Just looked up some files."

"_What_ files!?" Batman spit, nearly losing it again.

"Easy cowboy." The lunatic put his hands up as though in surrender. "Only my own… oh, and Harvey's. See if there was anything on him I wasn't already privy to. He won't really talk to me, you know? He avoids me like I'm some diseased animal or something. I don't understand why." He laughed.

The vigilante starred at him incredulously.

"What?!" The Joker grinned.

"And that's _all _you did?" Bruce continued to question.

"Scouts honor." The maniac giggled.

Batman nearly sighed, feeling the makings of a headache.

"Some interesting things you've written down about me sugar-plumb." The Joker spoke once more. "So I'm your most dangerous enemy, huh? Who'd have ever guessed it?!" He laughed. "Though I'm going to have to contest you on certain points. Really dear, I resent the whole "hopelessly insane" diagnosis you've pinned on me. That holds true only if you adhere to society's farcical notions of what is considered mentally sound. I thought more of you doll, then to agree with such a blanketed, black and white conclusion. I do hope you don't make a habit of such things."

The detective felt his stomach drop, realizing that, having read his case file on him, The Joker now knew of nearly every opinion he ever held of the man. Though, if he was being honest, he guessed the madman had always known. Still, it made him uncomfortable that the lunatic had read his own, detailed musings.

"How did you get out?" He asked, trying to distract himself from the thought.

"How do you think?" The Joker placed his hands on his hips and glared at the vigilante with a questioning expression.

"_Don't_ play games with me Joker. Tell me _how_!" Batman hissed lowly.

The madman sighed, throwing his hands up.

"Sometimes you're just no fun sweetheart." He said with exasperation. "The keypad honey. Think stupid!" He tapped a finger against his own head. "I pried the casing off and rewired it to send its signal to the lock."

"What?" Batman asked, a look of confusion on his face. "How?"

"I'm good with locks dumb, dumb." The Joker threw his hands up as though it were absurd he had to explain this. "All kinds. Mechanical, electric, combination. Every sort you could imagine, really. It was rather a dense move on your part, Bat-babe, putting a lock mechanism both outside _and _in. Even those dunderheads at Arkham know better then to do that. I wouldn't have bothered with the whole grate thing if I'd seen the keypad beforehand. I don't know _how _I missed it. Must be my unfortunate physical state."

The crusader looked at him in disbelief, feeling suddenly foolish. Why _hadn't_ he thought about the ability to rewire a keypad? It was like hotwiring a car almost. And The Joker would of course know how to do it. That _was _dense.

He breathed out.

"Back to your cell then." He said. "And if I catch you outside of it again…" He began, but stopped when he saw The Joker move forward, walking right past him.

"Oh! You brought books!" He exclaimed, making him way towards the pile of literature.

"Joker, get back here!" He spit, making after the lunatic.

The Joker seemed oblivious to Batman's displeasure or his commands as he continued on his path.

"What did you bring me?" He asked, bending down and taking up one of the books.

"Animal Farm?" He looked at the encroaching vigilante. "I've already read that. Great commentary. But one and I'm done, ya know?" He said, tossing it over his shoulder, picking another book from the pile. "Einstein's Theory of Relativity? Boooring. Practical science Batman. _Practical_! The only good thing ever to came from that mook was the atomic bomb…"

He continued to rifle through the literature, throwing one book after another over his shoulder, nearly hitting the vigilante each time.

"Joker, that's _enough_!" Batman finally had it, reaching out and taking the lunatic by his collar, pulling him backward.

"You're going back to your cell."

The Joker proceeded to pout before erupting in to giggles.

"But really dear, what ever is the _point_!?" He smiled.

The detective drew him closer, mere inches from his face, and spoke through gritted teeth.

"The _point_," He began, clearly agitated. "is that this is _my_ turf and you aren't some _guest _to be permitted a run of the place."

The madman continued to grin widely.

"It seems I already am." He began. "I could get from that cell whenever I'm so inclined and…"

The vigilante didn't allow The Joker to finish, backhanding him across the mouth, once, then twice, before shoving him to the floor.

"You do again, and all deals are _off_!" Batman spit, pointing a menacing finger in the maniac's direction. "I'll string you up to the ceiling by your wrists, with rope so tight your arms will go numb. And I'll keep you that way for the entire duration of your stay, until your entire body feels as though it's burning in fire! Do I make myself clear?!"

The madman starred at him in silence for some moments, his expression having gone flat. And finally he answered.

"Perfectly." He said, wiping a trickle of blood which seeped from the corner of his mouth, his whimsical tone betraying the abrupt agitation growing in the pit of his stomach.

He disliked immensely the fact he was being treated with such blatant disrespect, regarded as though he were some sort of _child_ in need of a good scolding. It wasn't as though he were used to being treated better. Not unless you'd count his hirelings, and what was their regard worth? No. It was that B.M. over here was threatening to restrain his movements. And not just that, but to torture him in the process. Not that he would mind, really. But his _condition_ again. What was so irritating him was the fact that, if Batman really were to hold true to his word, in his current state, The Joker knew there really wasn't much he could do about it.

Oh, he could choose to leave outright. Next time the caped crusader went out on one of his little jaunts, he could quite easily make his exit. He'd of course have to first determine just _where _that exit was, in this big, beautiful cave. And try to time the attempt for when Batman had actually left, which would in itself prove more difficult, considering the cell was isolated from the outside.

Certainly, his priority, still, was for revenge on ol' Sharpie and the one remaining buffoon who'd aided in his so-called therapeutic treatments. Oh, and paying a well-deserved visit to Roberts wife and daughter. He couldn't neglect his duties! He'd promised the man after all! A parting gift, really. Though he'd made sure to leave that part of his harrowing adventure from Bat-babe.

The truth was, however, he could and would accomplish all of this, in due course. Obviously, there always was the possibility that some ill-fortune may befall these individuals before he'd have the pleasure of delivering it himself. But as his motto so proudly proclaimed, there was little use in worrying yourself over the unforeseeable, and the eventually inevitable. But the likelihood of his opportunity to repay the warden was far greater then the chance of his current opportunity ever arising again. Getting to spend time with the detective, actual, quality time, that was something that had never happened before. They either were always trying to tear each other's throats out, which was entirely pleasant, of course, or at best, Batman would come to Arkham upon his request, sometimes for The Joker to aid him in some case, which always befuddled the crusader, or, in the event the case had been the madman's own doing, the vigilante would come to the asylum of his own volition, demanding answers. That, of course, was always the lunatic's goal. By sending one of the house residents out in to the world, he hoped always that Batsy would then come to him, out of need. It had worked, on several occasions.

Still, they never really got to just… talk. Batman was stubborn and rarely acknowledged the maniac's constant stream of dialog, rarely, overtly reacted to it. Though The Joker could tell from the nearly imperceptible lines which would form along the detective's mouth that his words did register. The only time the crusader had ever made an attempt to converse, had come to Arkham, not upon request or because he'd needed help, but because he'd _wanted_ to, The Joker had by then escaped, and had paid a little visit to Commissioner Gordon and his lovely daughter.

He nearly laughed, thinking about it.

The situation now was unique, and he planned on taking full advantage of it.

Sweetums here thought he was the one dictating the terms of his stay. The Joker thought it almost cute how the vigilante deluded himself.

He could leave any time he liked. Well, anytime the bat wasn't around to stop him. It was getting past the big galoot which had proven difficult.

But the thing was, he didn't want to leave.

He wanted to stay.

And that was strange, really. Considering how viciously he'd wanted to get away just a short time ago. But The Joker was never one to question his emotions, his desires. Whatever at the moment he fancied in his heart, well, that's exactly what he'd do.

And since Bat-babe had agreed to his terms, been _forced_ to, actually, he thought with a chuckle, then that was good enough for him.

Still, he grew tired of his being manhandled by the detective, all without consequence. He didn't mind the pain it caused him, and normally it was the greatest game in his mind, to go against such a physical specimen with only his mind, since, if he was being honest with himself, and he always _was _honest with himself, he never did stand much of a chance in an out and out fist fight. He could and would beat the bat only by outwitting him, and that was the fun in it all.

Still, he often needed his body to execute those plans, and as it stood now, the blasted thing was betraying him. If he wanted his revenge on Sharpie and Co. he was going to _have_ to recover. And if pointy-ears kept treating him like a pit-bull on a rag doll, that just wasn't going to happen.

And that was maybe the funniest thing of all. Batman wanted desperately to be in control, to make order out of chaos. But he couldn't even control _himself_. The Joker, in fact, was sure he'd never encountered anyone whom he was so easily able to fluster. Sometimes he didn't even _try_, just making some witty, essentially harmless remark,and the dear would fly off the handle, beating him to kingdom come.

The madman admitted that he contributed to it, of course. Laughing about it didn't exactly do much in quelling the dark knight's frustration. And for half the time it happened, The Joker would simply lay there and take it, not bothering to fight back, which served only to anger the vigilante further. That ridiculous _guilt_ he insisted on immersing himself in again.

But as it stood, if he _was _going to recover, The Joker would have to shake Batman from his violent stupor.

He pushed himself to his feet, keeping his eyes on the detective, who watched him with equal intent.

Bruce could see the madman was less then pleased, but he'd be damned if he started catering to the lunatic. And so he stood firmly, his fists clenched and he jaw set tight as The Joker came towards him.

The psychotic stopped before him, a few feet from where he stood and suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, he reared his hand back before abruptly slapping it, hard, across Batman's jaw.

The vigilante's head snapped to one side before turning back, his eyes wide in apparent shock. He hadn't been expecting that, clearly.

The madman looked back, his expression twisted in to one of distain.

Bruce felt a sharp sting along where he'd been slapped, and reaching up to touch the spot, again pulling his fingers away, he saw blood, and realized quickly The Joker had raked his skin with his nails.

At once he felt consumed by anger, filled with nothing but the desire to ravage the thin man before him. And with ridiculous speed, he reached out, grabbing hold of The Joker, pulling him forward before taking vicious hold of his jaw and jerking his head upward.

He was about to smash his skull against the maniac's face when the sound of The Joker's voice disrupted him.

"You know darling, if you keep on like this, it will take considerably longer before I'm able to recover, and then who knows _how _long it'll be before you have me out of your hair! Now, I _know_ you find my company desirable, as do I yours, but the sad fact is, being in each other's presence promotes all play, and _no_ work. You really can't expect that you'll accomplish anything _constructive_, not with me around. So what's it gonna be? Personally, I don't _mind_, but I know you, and falling behind on your supposed _duties_, out there… well, I'm sure you'd find that most unacceptable. So come on sweety, why don't you show some of that legendary _control_ you're always spouting off about?"

Batman starred at him for a long moment, saying nothing. And suddenly, he was overcome by self-awareness as he realized, with some mortification, that The Joker was correct. He'd lost control, had been _losing_ control ever since he'd brought the lunatic here. And what was worse, he wasn't even aware of it, not until just now. Not until the madman had had to point the fact out.

He let The Joker go, abruptly, looking away.

The maniac glared at him with a stoic expression, smoothing his hands over his shirt and pants, wiping away imaginary dust.

"Well then…" He began after a moment. "Now that we've come to resolve _that_ issue, what then do you suggest we _do_?"

The detective whirled his head up to look at his enemy.

"_We_ don't do anything!" He spit. "You're going back to the cell."

The Joker regarded him with amusement, smirking. He could see the vigilante was incredibly agitated, his fingers twitching with the need to take out his aggression. But he had to hold to urge back now, lest he look like the complete maniac The Joker knew he was.

He nearly laughed at the sight.

"But what of your promise Batsy?" He began. "The day is nearly up, and we've scarcely spent more then ten minutes together. And, certainly, _none_ of that can be construed as _quality_ time. It hasn't been as our usual jaunts, what with me being in my current condition and all. I haven't been any great challenge, have I?"

"I wouldn't say that." Batman mumbled bitterly.

The madman smiled wide.

"Oh, doll-face, you're very kind. But really, it's not necessary you embellish, not for my benefit. I'll be fine, honest."

Batman spun around, his cape billowing up behind him as he turned his back on the psychopath.

"What do you _want_!?" He hissed, growing unreasonably angry. The madman had such a frustrating effect on him. He could hardly stand being in his presence.

The Joker shrugged half-heartedly, remaining where he stood.

"Just the hour promised." He said. "I've already given option of you choosing what we do with that time."

The vigilante turned back to him then.

"If I were going to choose, it would be to say nothing to you, _do_ nothing with you. We'd simply sit in silence."

The Joker smiled.

"Well, perhaps _you _would, but what's to keep me from my monologue? Granted, that _is _our usual dynamic, but usually you compensate the difference through physical expression." He laughed. "Unless you wish to prolong my stay here, or shorten it, depending on just how _physical_ you get, then I'm afraid you'll be left without a mechanism to cope. And I don't think I need tell you how positively _obnoxious_ I can be. If you choose simply to sit and absorb it all, without playing, well, I can't be held responsible for the state of your mind by the end." Again he laughed. "But if you choose to engage, I _promise_ to be on my _best_ behavior, and maybe then we'll have some fun."

Batman scoffed loudly.

The Joker shrugged, frowning.

"You don't have to believe me." He said, turning away. "It's up to you, entirely."

The detective bristled, breathing in sharply through his nose.

He couldn't believe this. He couldn't believe _The Joker_ was backing him in to a corner in his own home. It was like some kind of nightmare. He was beginning to think stringing the fool up was his best option now. But still, the thought of angering the lunatic, then having him somehow escape, no matter how unlikely, he knew the depths of The Joker's cruelty had no end, and he didn't want to incur it, not if it could be helped.

"Fine." He said, his voice low. "Our time starts now."

The Joker clasped his hands together, brining them to his chest as a wide smile spread across his lips.

"How delightful!" He exclaimed, his voice tittering in excitement.

Batman frowned.

"Just move." He said, placing his hand along the madman's shoulder and pushing him towards the cell.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

They sat across from one another, neither saying anything. And Batman would have preferred to keep it that way. But he could see The Joker thinking. The madman was _always_ thinking. That was the trouble with him. If you wanted to _stop _him, you had to try and keep pace with his mind, and the vigilante had found the task nearly impossible. The Joker had a brain which operated outside any perimeters of normalcy, outside of any conceivable form of logic. He would think up things, dream up scenarios completely and utterly unconventional. Things no _normal_ mind ever would or even could. And he was frighteningly perceptive. Batman couldn't recall the number of times he'd had the lunatic cornered, with seemingly no escape, and The Joker had somehow found a way out. He _saw_ things other people didn't, both _in_ people and in his environment, saw opportunities which would be undetectable to near anyone else, and he would act quickly and without hesitation once he'd spotted his chance.

That was another thing about The Joker. He never _doubted _himself. He'd never thought twice about his actions. And while the crusader had, more then once, seen this lack of inhibition get the maniac in to deep waters, him having to save the madman from certain death more then a few times, he'd also seen it serve The Joker just as well, turning apparently disadvantaged situations in his favor entirely. He would act out whatever at the moment his insane mind told him to, no matter what it was.

It's why he'd also seen the lunatic literally throw himself from the top of skyscrapers before, without even the slightest hint of indecision, or take a gun, someone else's gun, to his own head and pull the trigger. Batman couldn't fathom the luck this man had. How many times he _should_ have died, but somehow always _didn't_.

Somehow, the detective had always been there to catch him, or the gun's clip had been empty, or he'd landed on something to break his own fall.

Other times, he'd merely survived, even when he shouldn't have. Gun shot wounds, knife wounds, explosions, falling from some ridiculous height.

Batman always found himself befuddled, and filled with a feeling of dread at those times, when searching the rubble for any sign of the madman's body, or the pavement below, sure he would discover a broken and bloodied heap, but always coming up empty handed.

He recalled, not that long ago now, when some maniac calling himself Onomatopoeia had come to Gotham, fixated on killing him. Somewhere along the line, he'd broken The Joker out of Arkham and supposedly they'd aligned themselves.

But Bruce remembered how, like he did with everything, The Joker regarded it as nothing more then a child's game.

He and Onomatopoeia had set up some half-cocked trap for him on the roof of GCP Headquarters. The Joker wasn't serious about any of it. He never was. But Batman had been raging mad at that point, sick to death of this _newcomer _and his brining yet more death and violence to the city, and even _more _disgusted with The Joker's flippant, reckless attitude and his teaming up with this new idiot from God knew where.

He recalled beating the snot out of Joker and insulting him the best way he knew how, by telling him he'd become cliché and non-threatening, hardly worth his time anymore. The Joker had shrugged it off, but the vigilante couldn't help but notice, even in his apparent disregard, that the madman had actually sounded hurt by what he'd said.

At the time though, he hadn't had time to consider it. He remembered cuffing The Joker to the signal on the roof and that's when the new guy had showed up.

This guy wasn't crazy. He was just really _angry_.

The Joker had been cheering him on in that typical way he would. With over the top fervor and enthusiasm. He _knew_ Onomatopoeia wouldn't get anywhere with the detective.

Again, he'd thought it was a game.

But Onomatopoeia had clearly thought different, and that was something The Joker didn't get. There was a disconnect in his brain, where he couldn't understand why anyone would take themselves being caught, or themselves being hurt, seriously.

_That _was why Batman had been so disgusted upon finding The Joker only two days ago, beaten to within an inch of his life. He was mentally _ill_; it wasn't some charade on his part. He simply wasn't able to grasp certain things. It seemed an impossibility for him to feel the weight of death, either for himself or for anyone else. To comprehend what it actually _meant_. He truly did think it was a joke, a game, _playtime_, as he'd call it. And that needed to be recognized. He was incredibly smart, but at the same time, he also was horribly compromised. And it was a bizarre combination. A child's lack of comprehending the consequences mixed with absolute, incredible genius.

Men like Onomatopoeia, though, were entirely different. Batman could regard someone like that only as pure evil. As recognizing the results of his actions, as understanding them, understanding the gravity, but then going through with them regardless. To Bruce, that was entirely inexcusable.

The Joker had kept on with his cheerleading, acting completely ridiculous. Meanwhile, Batman had gotten the new gun-wielding bastard to a disadvantaged position and he was becoming desperate.

Bruce still cringed and grew angry with himself thinking over what happened next. He should have _known_ it was coming, but he had let his emotions get in the way, and so had failed to anticipate it. By the time he'd seen the knife, it'd been too late.

The Joker himself had mistaken him going for it as a maneuver against the vigilante, which in itself was unusual, his wrongful anticipation.

And then Onomatopoeia had sunk the blade in to Joker's chest, almost down to the handle, using the distraction to make good his escape.

To this day, Bruce had been burdened by the guilt of knowing, if he hadn't of cuffed The Joker like he had, there was no way Onomatopoeia would have been able to do what he did. The lunatic would almost assuredly have been too quick.

Batman had even seen it in his eyes, right before he'd been stabbed. The Joker had _known_, the moment Onomatopoeia had retrieved the knife, from the way he turned, he'd known what the man intended. And in that split second of time, the vigilante had seen The Joker move to get out of the way, but had been held tight by the manacles, and the blade had met its target.

And it had been _his_ fault. If he hadn't of chained the maniac, he never would have been stabbed, and Onomatopoeia never would have gotten away. The Joker had almost died because of him, and a murderer had disappeared in to the night all because of his lack of foresight.

The whole affair bothered Bruce more then he cared to admit.

"What are you thinking?"

His thoughts were broken by The Joker's voice.

He looked up.

"What?" He asked.

"What are you thinking?" The Joker asked again.

Batman starred silently for a moment.

"Nothing." He answered finally, diverting his gaze to the side.

"Oh, come now!" The Joker scoffed disbelievingly. "You look as sour as a grapefruit. Something is _booothering_ you." He laughed.

"The only thing bothering me is _you_." Batman spit.

The Joker grinned widely.

"You make it so easy for me dear." He said. "But as much as I'd like to take credit for your perturbed state, that's not it."

The detective starred at him with anger.

"Are you really that presumptuous? To think you know what's going on inside my head?"

The Joker's smile grew.

"Oh darling, I _presume_ nothing. You've got that expression of guilt written across your face. You're feeling _responsible_ again, aren't you?"

Batman bristled.

This was _exactly_ why he didn't want to do this. The Joker and his damn _insight_. It was _precisely_ what made him so dangerous.

He was about to tell The Joker that he wasn't playing his games when he was cut off.

"I don't know how you live with it sweetheart." The madman began again. "I mean, my GOD, I would think it insufferable!"

Batman frowned.

"Of course you'd never know how _that _feels." He hissed. "It makes it all so much easier, when you've been absolved of all responsibility."

"Well, it's on others if they wish to make excuses for me. You included. It's really only to make themselves feel better. Of course, _directly_, I'm the cause of all I do. That's to say nothing of the many factors outside ones own control. But I'm not one for making excuses, most especially when there's nothing to be excused."

Bruce's face twisted in distain.

"You really don't see it, do you?"

"See what?"

"That it's wrong. What you do is _wrong_!" Batman spit.

The Joker shook his head.

"It _isn't wrong_!" He shot back.

"It _is_!" Batman nearly yelled.

"_No_!" The Joker continued to argue. "It _isn't_ wrong because it doesn't _mean _anything. That _word _doesn't mean anything!"

Batman stood suddenly in frustration, stalking over to where The Joker sat and towering over him.

"You say you don't make excuses. But _that's_ your excuse!" He raged. "You've somehow _convinced_ yourself that that's true. That nothing matters."

The Joker starred up at him, his own expression turned to a frown.

"It isn't an excuse." He said. "It simply _is_."

Batman bent forward, his teeth bared and his fingers curled.

"What?!" The madman leaned back on his hands. "Are you gonna _beat me up_ now because you don't agree?"

Bruce remained frozen for a moment, unmoving, just starring at the lunatic before, finally, he spun, growling in frustration.

And he heard The Joker explode in to laughter behind him.

He huffed, his fists clenching. He wanted nothing more then to leave then, thinking he couldn't stand another minute around the maniac.

Gradually The Joker's hysterics died away and the room grew silent.

"But really babe, what was it you were thinking that so perturbed you?" He asked.

"I told you…" Batman answered, not bothering to turn and face him. "_Nothing_!"

"Come on bunches! You can tell me! That's what friends are for, after all!"

"You're no friend of mine!" The vigilante turned then, his face twisted in disgust.

"Oh yes you are!" The Joker smiled wide. "BFF's, that's us! That's best friends forever, in case you aren't up on the lingo of today's youth."

Batman said nothing in response, instead again turning away.

"Don't be afraaaid honeycakes…" The lunatic continued to tease. "You can trust me."

At this the crusader scoffed loudly.

The Joker looked at him with almost a confused gaze then.

"I'm a _very good_ psychiatrist, very good at soothing what might trouble the mind." He began again after a moment. "Just ask Harley."

Bruce spun, glaring at the psychopath.

"You _twisted_ that girls mind to suit your agenda." He growled between his teeth.

The Joker shrugged, waving a dismissive hand.

"I only provided Harley with what she'd always wanted but had simply been too _afraid _to take. She was a young lady forced in to a role by society. A role she didn't belong in. All I can be accused of doing is setting her free."

Batman starred disbelieving at the lunatic.

"By turning her in to your slave?!" He questioned indignantly.

The Joker shook his head.

"No, no. You're just like all of those _doctors_. You assume the same things. Harley _wanted _someone to lead her. _Needed_ it, even. When first we met, she was _utterly _lost and alone. Dominated by her fear, entirely unsure of what to do with herself. She longed for acceptance from a group which would never have given it to her if she ever were to be herself, _really_ be herself. You see, what you and all of those _morons_ at Arkham fail to realize about the lovely Ms. Quinn is, on her own, she is an _absolute_ self-destructive personality. Left to continue as she was, she most assuredly would have spiraled down the path of alcoholism and drug abuse, and most probably would have ended up dead of an overdose. Believe me when I tell you Batman, she was _miserable_, simply _miserable_ before I came in to her life and she entered my world. I gave her direction, something to strive for. I injected something in to her existence that no one and nothing had been able to give her before. Do you know what that was darling?"

The vigilante didn't answer, only continued to stare.

"Happiness Batman! I gave her happiness! Contentment, satisfaction, _joy_! I gave her all that, and all without the requirement that she pretend to be something she's not. I coaxed the girl from her shell and under my wing, she's found _freedom_. Free of the burden which is called morality, free from meaningless expectation and the desire to fit in, to be successful within the bounds of socially acceptable conduct. Free of the need to attain symbols of societal and cultural status, feelings of false power. Why do you think I was so quickly able to gain her devotion? Certainly, with anyone, I could achieve the task. But with her, it took a matter of, what was it, six months? Why do you think that was? Never mind, don't answer that. I'll tell you. It was because she _wanted_ it. She _wanted _someone to rescue her from her nightmarish existence of inadequacy and pretense. Because Harley, you have to understand, is not an assertive girl. Oh, she's anything but. Without being shown the way, she either never would have found it, or worse still, never would have been brave enough to take the first step down. She is consecrated to me, wholly, because I gave her _truth_, where everyone else gave her _lies_."

"You mean all those _tall tales_ you told about your _supposedly_ abusive childhood?!" The detective spit back.

"That's irrelevant." The Joker replied. "What difference do the menial details of ones past make? I showed her the truth of our lives. The truth of who she was, who she _is_. Once I gave her that…" He paused, smiling. "She was _mine_."

Batman turned away.

"You're sick." He mumbled bitterly. "You don't even care about her."

"So?" The madman shrugged. "She makes me happy. And that's all _she_ really cares about."

"You've _deluded_ her!" Bruce looked sharply his way. "She thinks she loves you, and she thinks _you _love _her_!"

"She doesn't _think _she loves me Bat-babe." The Joker's face twisted to a frown. "She _does_ love me. Whether that love is reciprocated is unimportant. She makes me laugh. Just being _herself_, she makes me laugh. And knowing this fact, she feels fulfilled. So please, don't _pretend_ I ruined the girl's life when it already _was_."

Batman scoffed, once more looking away.

The Joker eyed him intently for a moment, before rising silently to his feet.

"There is _one_ person I care for though." He spoke softly, moving forward. "And I think you know who that is."

He reached out then, resting a hand on the vigilante's shoulder.

Bruce spun about with vicious speed, snatching The Joker's wrist in his hand and squeezing tight.

"What do you think you're doing!?" He yelled.

The lunatic grinned back, unconcerned with the growing pressure of Batman's grip.

"Oh Batman, you know, there _are_ forms of physical expression beyond violence. Even _I_ know that!" He laughed sharply.

The vigilante's face twisted in absolute disgust and without warning, he increased the strength of his grip to the point of near breaking the madman's wrist.

The Joker chocked out despite himself, the pain overwhelming his frail body as he sunk suddenly to his knees.

The sight seemed only to encourage Batman and he squeezed harder still, overcome with a desire to _hurt_ the maniac.

The Joker chocked out once more, saliva falling from his lip, but quickly the sound gave way to a low chuckle, which soon grew to outright laugher, and his body shook with the intensity of his hysterics.

Bruce felt his grip loosen and he looked incredulously upon the psychopath before violently shoving his arm away.

"Touch me again and next time I'll snap it!" He warned, his voice seething in anger.

"Oh, but then you'd have to set _that_ darling, which would serve only would _ensure _further physical contact." The Joker laughed, rubbing his wrist.

The detective shook his head. He couldn't believe this. He'd been in this cell for half an hour and already he felt he was being driven mad.

He was used to spending short bursts of time around this sociopath, and those times usually were filled with little talking, at least, on _his_ part. It was near impossible to shut the psychopath up.

He wanted to leave.

He didn't trust The Joker either way. Not in the least. Even keeping his word, he feared the madman would leave his cell anyway. It seemed to him, going out on patrol for the next few weeks would be an impossibility. The Joker was too dangerous, _far _too dangerous to leave, knowing now how easily he might slip away.

He'd always known the maniac was a brilliant escape artist, but now he thought he better understood exactly _how_ it was he always was escaping Arkham. He'd made ridiculously easy work of the lock mechanism on this cell, a mechanism which had been specially developed within the Wayne Tec.'s technologies department and which Bruce had been planning on presenting to both Arkham Asylum and Blackgate Prison at some point in the near future, as a replacement for their current lock measures. Rewiring it as he did, reversing its electronic signal, required intricate understanding of the technology. He didn't understand how The Joker could have figured it out so quickly, having never encountered it before.

Maybe mechanical was better. At least then he'd need a _tool_ to pick it. And Bruce could keep that away from the lunatic more easily, he thought. Those idiots who worked at the asylum consistently allowed The Joker and other inmates to smuggle things in. Whether they were aware of their blunder or not, it happened all the time. And someone like The Joker, who was able to so easily manipulate others in to doing what he wanted, both from the outside and in; it was an absolute _breeze_ for him to get in hand what he required to get _out_.

Either way, whether he decided to replace the locks or not, he would have to have Alfred stand by on surveillance, up in the manor.

"How did you reprogram the locks?" He spun to face the madman, ignoring the ridiculous comment.

The Joker grinned, pushing himself to his feet.

"Trade secret, sweetheart." He said, walking to the cot. "Besides, you're a smart boy, I'm sure you'll figure it out, if only you look closely enough." He flopped down on to the mattress and began playing half-heartedly with the bed's pillow.

Batman eyed him with agitation written all over his face.

He was sure he couldn't stand another minute.

Not without doing something he'd regret.

He was sure.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

The rest of the time spent with The Joker had been occupied by the madman continuing to pester the vigilante to tell him what had been "troubling" him. Batman, of course, had refused to yield to the request, repeating over and over that it was "nothing".

By the time the hour was up, he'd been _more_ then ready to leave. But upon The Joker's informing him of his growing hunger pangs, the detective had been obliged to return shortly after with a tray of newly prepared food. He'd put it together himself, not wanting to bother Alfred again, and not wanting to explain to him exactly _why_ the last dish had fallen to the floor.

"Try not to throw this one against the wall." He'd said, placing the meal on the floor. "And eat slowly."

"I always do." The Joker had smiled, standing from the cot and making his way towards the food.

Batman had turned to exit then when the lunatic had called out to him that he should bring that pack of playing cards he'd requested the next time he came.

Bruce had stood silently for a moment, before finally give a subtle nod of his head, and taking his leave.

From there, he'd went up to Alfred, instructing him to purchase a pack of regular playing cards.

The butler had given him a questioning glance before complying.

"Consider it done Sir."

Bruce smiled.

"Great. I'll be down in the cave. Just leave them here, in the study."

"Very good Sir."

The vigilante had needed a nap afterwards. Though he was nervous about the prospect of sleep while that maniac was so close, and so easily able to free himself. But he hadn't really rested in days, and if he wished to stay alert, it was necessary.

As it was, he'd nodded off for several hours before, at last, awaking with a start.

He at first was bleary eyed, and it took several minutes before he was able to completely focus, pushing himself to his feet.

Falling asleep in the suit had made him sore, and he stretched, trying to shake the feeling.

Suddenly his eyes shot wide as his memory came back to him, and he reached out, quickly brining the cell's security camera up.

He breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing The Joker, sat cross-legged on the cot, his back against the wall. He appeared to be doing nothing more then sitting there, and Batman found himself wondering for how long he'd been like that.

That in turn led him to wondering for how long he himself had been out, and he glanced to the clock located at the bottom, right hand corner of the screen.

His eyes again grew wide when he saw it read 11:30 AM. He'd been out nearly 12 hours. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so long. That's when he noticed the smell of food and looking to his left, he saw a steaming bowl of oatmeal and tall glass of orange juice sitting there on a tray.

He shook his head. He'd _told_ Alfred not to come down to the cave. For an employee, the old man could be completely uncooperative.

He smiled.

But then, Alfred wasn't really an employee, was he? No. He was a friend.

He then noticed the pack of playing cards, left next to the food.

Alfred, as always, reliable.

He wasn't really all that hungry. He rarely was when he awoke.

The thought then occurred to him that The Joker might very well be, considering how much time had past.

He frowned, realizing such thinking might be construed as him actually _caring _for the lunatic. But he shook his head from it, grabbing the tray and cards and moving towards the cell.

The Joker snapped to attention as soon as he heard the door's lock release, his head turning towards the entrance.

He could feel a well of excitement bubble up inside his stomach, watching with expectant anticipation as the door pushed open.

A smile spread across his lips as he watched Batman appear. He'd been waiting patiently the entire time, just sitting there.

Bruce approached him with caution, as always, observing right away the tray he'd left on the bed with the madmen, cleaned of its previous contents. He hadn't left any sort of utensils. He wasn't about to risk that sort of thing. It only had been a buttered bagel and dried cheerios, as was. And a glass of water.

"Here." He said, pulling the old tray away and placing the new one in its place.

Immediately the madman went for the cards, opening the case and slipping them to his hand.

"Thanks babe!" He smiled, fingering the thin slips of plastic coated paper with precisian.

Batman watched with actual fascination as The Joker began to shuffle the deck. It was clear he was adept in the handling of cards. Bruce had always known of the lunatic's skills as a magician, but he'd never seen them put on display.

He continued to stare when The Joker looked up at him and smiled, seeing the interest on the vigilante's face.

Batman shifted abruptly.

"Did you sleep?" He asked suddenly.

The Joker looked at him with a disbelieving expression before chuckling lightly.

"Random much?!"

Bruce only starred back, and the madman then waved a hand.

"I don't _really _sleep sweet-cheeks." He said, looking back to the deck he held.

The vigilante was about to reply, to ask what that was supposed to mean, but was cut off by the lunatic again speaking.

"I see you fancy my talent." He began, cutting the cards in a single hand. "Would you care for a more extensive demonstration?"

Bruce just looked at him for a moment, saying nothing, before shaking his head.

"No." He said. "That won't be necessary."

"Oh, please!?" The Joker implored, sitting up suddenly on his knees and clasping his hands together, as though begging. "I never get to do this for anyone anymore, except Harley. The poor girl does her best to show enthusiasm, of course, but you know Harley, she would cheer me spitting in to a bucket. She doesn't appreciate the artistry involved here. She doesn't understand what goes in to it."

Batman's face twisted to a frown as he looked upon his enemy, wondering how exactly he'd gotten in to this. The Joker couldn't really be asking for something so _simple_, could he?

"And besides…" The psychopath disrupted his thoughts. "You'll have the hour out of the way, and all you'll really have to do is sit there and watch while I do my thing."

The detective placed a hand to his head in frustration. He felt as though he were appeasing the lunatic, and he couldn't help the feeling of guilt which crept up on him from that. But he reasoned with himself that he really had little choice, if he wanted this to go smoothly. As smoothly as any situation involving The Joker could be, in any event.

"Alright." He finally breathed. "Fine."

"Fantastic!" The madman exclaimed excitedly, moving from the bed.

"Try anything funny and…"

"Oh, you worry too _much_ dear." The Joker pushed past him. "I intend nothing but what I say. Now…" He turned to face the crusader. "Have a seat."

This entire situation struck Bruce as wholly bizarre. He was actually giving _audience_ to the worst mass-murderer he'd ever known, to watch him put on a _magic_ show!? The man was a living, breathing paradox. It seemed utterly absurd, and he might have laughed if not for the gravity of it all.

"Watch…" The Joker splayed the cards easily before suddenly he spread the deck evenly along the top inside of his forearm. Pausing for dramatic effect, he put a finger up, then flung the cards forward, off his arm, in to the air, and doing a single turn, caught them before bringing them back to a neat, squared pile.

Bruce watched with unabashed interest as The Joker proceeded to execute one manipulation after another with masterful precisian and assuredness.

At one point, it appeared as though the deck had vanished completely, until, with a turn of his wrist, he began to make each card reappear between his fingers, seemingly from thin air. After which, after gathering back the entire pack, he began to shuffle and turn the cards in his hands, spinning and flipping them over one another, turning them on their edges, making strange patterns, transitioning from one position to the next too quickly for them to lose their shape and fall, and even began to juggle them.

All while doing this, he spoke to the vigilante, interacting with him, actually _entertaining_ him. He was wholly captivating and charismatic, and it was clear that he knew well how to hold a room's attention.

Still, Bruce made certain to mask whatever fascination he was feeling by keeping his expression stoic. He thought, somewhere, that to be anything but repulsed and hateful towards the madman was wrong. And so even when impressed, he showed no emotion.

The Joker, however, didn't seem even to mind, continuing on in his performance with as much vigor and passion as ever.

And for nearly an hour, he put on a show, both of card manipulation and magic, proving to the detective that his skills were on the level of the very best magicians in the world. Batman wanted to ask him where he'd learned to do the things he did. He'd always been highly impressed by just that sort of talent. He himself had studied and perfected the techniques of the great escape artists. That, of course, had been because it was of immense help in his particular line of work. But he'd never learned slight of hand, not to such a degree, anyway. He refrained from asking though, by virtue of his morals. And in any event, he reasoned with himself, it was likely the madman didn't himself even know. The level of ability he was showing, Bruce knew, would have taken hour upon hour of practice, for years on end. And though The Joker was young when he'd fallen in to that bath of chemicals, how young not really known, but estimated to be in his mid to late 20s, for how many years had past, the lunatic would have had to learn these things before then, before he'd become what he was.

So no, he probably didn't remember.

Still, it opened a window in to who he may have been, which caused the detective's curiosity to swell even further.

"Do you have a coin Batman?" He heard the lunatic ask.

"A what?" He returned.

"A coin." The Joker repeated. "Don't worry. I'm not turning Harvey on you. I thought I might show you how I turn the thing over with my fingers. It's quite neat, really."

Batman starred at him for a long moment.

"No." He finally answered. "I'm afraid not."

The Joker shrugged.

"That's too bad." He said. "Maybe next time you'll bring one."

He continued to finger the cards in various, complex routines as the crusader watched on.

"So what do you think Bat-babe? Did you like it?" The madman finally asked.

Bruce didn't say anything for a few, short seconds.

"Your skill is impressive." He finally answered, allowing for the compliment, though he delivered it with as much of a monotone as he could muster.

"Yes, yes, but did you _enjoy_ it?!" The Joker pressed.

"It was impressive." The vigilante was again stingy with his reply.

The Joker waved his hand dismissively.

"Wound tight as ever, I see. But you liked it, I can tell." He smiled.

"Where did you learn it?" Bruce finally gave in to his curiosity.

The lunatic moved round the room, eyeing the vigilante as he paced.

"Here and about…" He said, continuing to shuffle the cards.

Batman looked skeptically at him.

"You don't remember, do you? You really don't!?"

The Joker stopped moving then and starred at the crusader.

"Don't remember _what_?" He asked.

"Anything." Bruce pushed. "About your past."

The Joker started for a moment, than stopped.

"What difference is it to you?" The lunatic finally asked.

Bruce couldn't help his feeling of satisfaction when he picked up the impatience in the madman's voice and saw actual annoyance flash in his eyes.

He nearly smirked.

If he couldn't get to the psychopath physically, then he could feel pride in being the only one able to get to him mentally. And that was just The Joker's game, wasn't it?

Well, two could play at that, and he intended to make the most of it here.

"It's nothing." Bruce went on. "It's just, I imagine it would be hard… not knowing who you are. Maybe even a little scary."

The Joker now looked less then pleased, the usual smile which always played at his lips having gone completely.

Anyone else would have been deathly afraid of angering the maniac, but Batman was confident in his ability to handle the man should he lose his cool and fly off the handle.

"You assume too much dear." The Joker waved him off.

"Do I?" Batman replied.

"You do." The lunatic quickly countered. "And what's more, whether I know or not is not important. The past is romanticized in a grossly disproportionate manner. So many people spend all of their time _pining_ for it, and so they pay no mind to the present, letting their lives pass by, drowned by their own regret and unhappiness."

Bruce leaned back then, crossing his arms. He had him now.

"Wow. You really _don't _remember!" He remarked with surprise in his voice.

"And _you_ really are a spoil-sport!" The lunatic spit back. "Here I am, trying to bring a little _joy_ in to your otherwise _dreary_ existence, and you have to fuss it up with ridiculous, impertinent questions!"

Batman shrugged.

"It just seem strange to me, not knowing who you are." He continued to press the madman.

And he did smirk when he noticed The Joker clearly becoming uncomfortable, now shifting around the room restlessly. It was a rare thing indeed, to see him that way.

"It must make your life confusing, no? Heck, _lonely_ even. In fact, thinking about it, it strikes me as a little…" He paused, waiting for it. "Well, as a little _sad_."

Almost before the word had expelled from his mouth, he felt a sharp sting across his lower jaw and realized, only moments later, that The Joker had flicked a playing card towards him, and the thing had sliced painfully across his skin.

And in an instant, the lunatic had walked fast towards him, a fiery rage in his eyes.

"You know _nothing_ about me!" He said, his words clipped with anger. "You've proven so by that farcical case file you've written up."

Bruce reached up to feel along where the card had grazed him. It was barely a scratch, no blood even, but still, it made him mad.

He looked up at The Joker.

"Your reaction tells me I'm right. You keep avoiding details." He said, keeping his voice even and calm, though inside he felt abrupt anger. "I probably know as much about you as you do yourself. Really, you could have been _anyone_. I'll bet your extreme persona is actually some sub-conscious manifestation to compensate for whatever it was you were before. And it only could have been some sorry, _pathetic_ mess of a man, considering how far you've gone. You must have been a real _loser_."

The Joker stood silently for a moment, just starring at him, saying and doing nothing. And the detective starred back, equally still, before suddenly the madman threw himself at the vigilante, landing literally on top of him and grabbing his hands around the ears of his cowl.

Immediately Batman grabbed him around the torso and stood, spinning the maniac around before slamming him down on the cot. He reared his fist back, ready to strike when he was stopped by The Joker erupting in to giggles.

"Oh babe, that's what _I_ like!" The lunatic laughed. "You're _easily_ as sadistic as I am."

Batman starred at him in obvious confusion.

"You know, I really _was_ only trying to make you smile. You never just _smile_." The Joker continued. "But instead of accepting that, instead of just admitting that something I did, you actually found _amusing_, you had to twist it around in to an attack."

Suddenly the smile went from the maniac's face and he looked as serious as Batman had ever seen him.

"You say _I'm_ deluded, but you're the one who guilt's yourself out of enjoying life. You think deriving pleasure from something as innocent as a magic show is unacceptable, merely because of the performer. But then, to get your kicks, you lambaste me with cruel remarks, and somehow you've convinced yourself that _that's_ okay. Enjoying my card tricks is a no-no, but demeaning my person is. Yeah Batman, you're _real_ stable." And suddenly, he again exploded in to laughter, throwing his head back with the force.

Bruce looked at him a moment longer before violently shoving him away and turning to walk across the room.

"Don't be _mad_ darling." The Joker began, sitting up and dusting himself off. "You're the one who started it, remember?"

The vigilante said nothing, keeping his back to his enemy.

The madman eyed him before standing.

"You know sweetheart, there's nothing _wrong _with wanting to hurt me."

Batman froze for a moment before turning his head, looking over his shoulder at the lunatic.

"There's nothing wrong with anything, really." The Joker continued. "Not even with enjoying my little show." He moved towards the detective. "You've only been taught to believe there is." He stopped a few feet from where Bruce stood. "All I'm trying to do is show you that there's not."

Batman turned fully then to face him.

"To help you enjoy life a little, and to stop drowning in your own self-loathing." He smiled.

In an instant the vigilante was upon him, taking him by the collar of his shirt and swinging him around, slamming his back against the wall.

The Joker hung limply from Batman's grasp, still grinning.

"Really, what makes me mad isn't what you said dear, it's your _ingratitude_. And the fact of your _denial_."

Bruce clung tighter to the lunatic, wanting to smash his grinning face in. But suddenly he heard his own voice, telling him to calm down, and he did, still holding to The Joker, but relaxing his grip.

"No." He said. "You're lying. You really _were_ upset by what I said. It's no wonder you try so desperately to make me see things your way. You really _are_ delusional. But you think clearly enough to understand that you _are_ alone. And nothing hurts worse than _that_. So somehow, you've focused on me, deciding I'm some kindred soul to your own, so that you can escape that loneliness." He let The Joker go abruptly, shoving him against the wall. "But I'm _not_. I never will be and I'll _never_ see things the way your sick mind does, no matter _how_ hard you try to make me. You're always going to be this lost, wondering person with no direction, no place to go and no point to look back on. You've got nothing to _cling_ to, do you? No one to connect you to anything or anyone else. No one to talk to even. And nobody's ever going listen to you. Nobody's ever going to take you seriously, because all you do is _hurt_ them. All they see when they look at you is a sick and twisted _deviant_. You've got no friends, no one to support you, no one to _help_ you. That must really be though, huh Joker? It must hurt like hell, being _that_ alone."

The Joker had stopped grinning then, his expression turning now to a pronounced frown, and he starred at Batman hard for a moment before abruptly pushing past him.

Bruce allowed it, turning to watch as the madman made his way to the cot, practically falling on to the thing. From there he took the by then cold bowl of oatmeal in to his hands and began to eat, not bothering to look up at the vigilante.

Batman just starred at him, saying nothing. He wasn't at all sure of what the lunatic was thinking now. His diatribe had certainly wiped the smirk off The Joker's face, but he hadn't become violent like Bruce expected.

He waited for him to finish before making his way towards the bed himself.

"Our time is up." He said.

The Joker continued to keep his gaze fixed on the floor.

"I'll be taking those." Bruce went on, reaching his hand out for the tray and its dishes.

The Joker pushed the platter forward, still refusing to look Batman's way.

The detective took it up then, turning to head for the door.

"I'll be back with more food later." He said, looking back at his enemy.

The Joker shrugged, picking absentmindedly it seemed at the cot's thin blanket.

Bruce glared at him a few moments longer before finally turning and heading out the door.

Authors note:

So, guys, to get an idea of the kind of card tricks I have The Joker doing in this chapter, check out these youtube videos:

.com/watch?v=00yi2kJDjOk

.com/watch?v=CeDseu-SaFE


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11:**

Batman stormed up the stairs, pushing hastily past the grandfather clock and out in to the study.

"Alfred!" He called, pacing back and forth. "Alfred!"

Moments later the butler came through the door, as cool as ever.

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"I need you to call Dick and tell him to make the rounds. And I also need him to meet with Commissioner Gordon and tell him that I'm working on locating The Joker and that's why I haven't been around the last few days and won't be for another couple weeks."

Alfred looked at Bruce with clear concern. He was highly agitated, that was obvious, and rarely was he so pushy.

"As you wish Sir." He nodded, than paused.

"If I may ask Sir," He began. "Are you planning on _yourself_ staying while we have our unfortunate friend _detained_, as you say?"

"I can't…" Bruce huffed, pulling the cowl from his head. His whiskers were growing out and his hair looked matted and messy. "I can't let him out of my site." He finally finished. "It's too dangerous."

"May I ask what changed from yesterday?" Alfred pushed. "You were perfectly willing to go out on patrol then, provided of course, I myself leave the manor."

"It's nothing." The vigilante hastily attempted to brush it off. "I've just changed my mind is all."

The butler glared at him incredulously.

"Really, Master Bruce?!"

"Really!"

"You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe Sir." Alfred went on.

"Well you don't really have a choice, do you? Now call Dick and tell him what I told you. I'll be down in the cave." He turned then to go back down.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred called out to him.

He turned.

"Be careful Sir. For once, please, look out for yourself?"

Bruce eyed him for a moment, his expression hard. But suddenly it relaxed and he smiled, if only faintly.

"I will Alfred." He said. "And… I'm sorry. It's just been… a little stressful."

"Indeed Sir." Alfred nodded in acknowledgement. "Would you like for me to take those?"

The detective looked momentarily confused before realizing he held the food trays from downstairs.

"Oh." He said. "Yes Alfred. Please." He handed them over.

"Very good Sir."

And with that, the older man turned, heading towards the kitchen.

**

Bruce decided to take a shower, down in the caves facilities, considering he hadn't had one in several days.

The thought than occurred to him that The Joker hadn't himself cleaned since he'd been there, and God only knew for how long before then he hadn't either. The idea of allowing that lunatic to use the caves showering facilities was less then pleasing, but he couldn't very well treat him like an animal either.

He concluded then to let The Joker wash himself after he worked out for the day.

Normally he would have exercised before taking a shower himself, but he felt completely lathered in dirt and he needed to get rid of that first.

By the time he emerged from the stall he felt good and made his way towards the gym area with a mild sense of enthusiasm. Most people, it seemed, hated working out, but Bruce loved it.

He'd put the holding cell security camera up on the various screens adorning the area while he exercised so that he could keep an eye on his guest.

He wondered what exactly it was he was doing, after their less then cordial encounter just 20 minutes earlier.

Jumping on the tread-mill, he ordered the monitors on using the computers voice command. Starting the machine, he glanced at the screen and saw The Joker pacing restlessly about. The cameras audio was picking up little more then the rustling of his cloths. He wasn't talking.

Bruce almost was surprised by how little the madman spoke to himself. For some reason, he'd always been under the impression that he would be just the sort to do that kind of thing. He was, after all, insane. But he was unusually quiet, it seemed, except of course, when Bruce himself came around.

Then he couldn't get the lunatic to shut up.

He continued to glance up at the screens every few minutes while he ran, wondering to himself whether or not The Joker had meant what he said, that he didn't really sleep. He _must_ have slept sometimes. But other then when he'd been knocked unconscious by the vigilante, or passed out from physical weakness, Bruce realized he hadn't yet seen it from him.

He ran for an hour, five minute miles. A good pace. He felt right afterwards.

The Joker had continued to move back and forth for that entire time, never stopping until near the end, when he'd sat down on the room's cot.

Dabbing at his face with a towel, the detective thought that maybe the lunatic was finally going to rest. So he was somewhat startled when The Joker instead pushed himself from the bed and again began to pace.

And just as abruptly as he started, he stopped, near the room's upper right corner, and leaning his back against the wall, he slid suddenly downward, until he'd sunken to a sitting position.

This caught Bruce's attention, and he moved closer to the monitor, watching as The Joker pulled his knees to his chest, resting his chin upon them while wrapping his arms around his legs.

The maniac looked curled in on himself and Batman found himself wondering more what he was doing.

The audio wasn't picking up on anything.

"Computer, zoom, east right corner." He commanded.

Instantaneously the camera moved in on The Joker's figure and Bruce leaned in closer to the screen.

His brows shot up as he looked upon his enemy's face, noticing that his eyes appeared glassy, and the vigilante felt his breath catch when he saw a tear fall, first from the left, and then the right, sliding down The Joker's cheeks.

Batman starred disbelievingly for a long moment. The Joker didn't sob. He didn't make any sound at all. His face wasn't contorted in pain, or any expression at all. But he was _crying_. There was no mistaking it.

Suddenly he was overcome with the need to look away.

And he did.

The sight disturbed him, and he didn't even know why. It made him feel _horrible_, like something was terribly wrong. And he couldn't bare to look anymore.

"Computer, off." He said.

An instant later, the screen went black.

Why in the hell was _The Joker _crying!? Batman hadn't even thought the madman capable of such a thing. The notion had never even crossed his mind as something possible.

Bruce felt suddenly as though he might be sick as he rested his head in his hands.

This was all wrong.

This was _all_ wrong!

Abruptly he looked up again and reached out, again brining up the security monitor.

And again he saw The Joker's image, huddled in that corner, as though he were trying to push himself in to disappearing against the wall.

Once more he commanded that the computer close in on the madman, and still he was met with the same picture of tears falling, one after the other, in rapid succession down his face.

He truly, scarcely could believe his own eyes. And all he could keep thinking was 'Why? Why?' over and over.

It made no sense, and he found himself standing stiffly from his seat, pacing back and forth across the cave floor. A million thoughts burst through his mind. Should he go _in_ there? Confront The Joker? Maybe it was a ruse? The maniac, after all, _knew_ he was being monitored. That seemed likely, in fact. But then, if he were putting on a show, it seemed an odd way to go about it. It was his face. It seemed blank, without expression. If he were trying to fool the vigilante, Bruce thought, it only would be natural for him to furrow his brow, or twist his mouth to a frown. And his _eyes_. That was one way in which the detective always knew when The Joker was lying. His eyes were always so cold, so dead. But what he'd just seen. The madman's eyes had been, for just that moment he'd looked, absolutely _radiating _pain, as though _consumed_ by it. He'd never seen that in The Joker before. Never.

Again he felt sick and he stilled his pacing, his head bowed, his hands clenching in to fists.

What should he do!?

He looked up, towards the direction of the cell, and felt an irrational need to go to it, to open it up and… and what?!

He felt his stomach tighten as he realized, at once, that he desired all of a sudden to _beat_ the lunatic. Beat him to within an inch of his life. That he was _angry_. Inconsolably _mad_.

But Jesus Christ, _why_?!

None of this was adding up.

And in that instant, he gave in to desire, walking with speed towards where he'd left his suit, pulling it on double quick before making his way towards the holding pen.

Keying the code in, so anxious to get inside he nearly fussed it up, he pulled the door open aggressively and stepped inside.

The Joker's reaction made clear that Batman's sudden arrival had startled him as he looked up and the vigilante saw, for the first time he ever could recall, actual shock on the madman's face.

And then he saw the tear tracks, streaking the lunatic's pale cheeks, and that inexplicable, violent rage welled up in him, and he strode swiftly towards the sitting man.

The Joker was quick to rise to his feet, seeing immediately Batman's intent.

But the detective was far too determined, and far too driven by emotion, to have any chance of getting out of his way, and in an instant, he was upon the madman, latching viciously to his shirt and pulling him forward.

"THIS IS ALL A _GAME_ TO YOU!?" He screamed in to the thin man's face, his grip tightening.

The Joker frowned, his brow creasing in confusion.

"I have no idea what you're talking ab…" He began to say but was cut short by Bruce swinging him round like a rag doll and flinging him across the room.

He landed with a crack on his side and knew his already broken ribs had again been dislodged. It burned like fire.

The Joker had seen the vigilante like this before. Uncontrollably _mad_. He knew he was in for a sever beating. Depending on _how_ mad, maybe something more. When Batman was like this, even if he weren't himself in such a weakened state, there was little he could do to defend himself.

And yet all he wished then was that he could have known the vigilante was coming, so he could have wiped the tears from his eyes before he saw.

He wasn't supposed to see.

_Nobody _was.

He had barely time to process the thought before he felt a crushing grip take hold of his arm and yank him upwards, spinning him around until he was face to face with the crusader.

"You sick son of a bitch! What do you think you're trying to pull?" Batman spit.

The Joker only starred back in silence.

"WHAT!?" The detective suddenly yelled.

The madman cocked his head to the side, unphased.

"Pull?" He questioned boldly. "I'm pulling _nothing_…"

Batman's teeth bore in rage and he tightened his hold along The Joker's thin arms, squeezing with incredible pressure.

"LIAR!" He accused. "YOU LYING BASTARD!" And quickly he smashed his cowled head against The Joker's own.

The room spun in dizzying circles and the lunatic tried in vain to regain his orientation before what he knew was going to be the next, inevitable blow. But it was useless as Batman's fist met his face, and an instant later, sunk in to his solar plexus, causing his knees to buckle from under him.

He gasped sharply at the loss of breath and sunk to the floor as the vigilante released his hold. Only seconds later Bruce threw an uppercut in to the lunatic's face, knocking him to his back and proceeding quickly to straddle him, pinning his arms above his head.

He leaned in close.

"WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO PULL?!" He again screamed. "ANSWER ME!" He gripped tight to The Joker's hands and slammed them down against the concrete.

Blood now trickled from both the madman's nose and mouth as he starred up at the detective with hate filled eyes, and the room still seemed to twirl.

"You call _me_ insane!?" He spit back. "Sorry to disappoint _love_, but you still haven't explained to me what it is you're talking about. Care to _enlighten_ me, perhaps?"

Batman's grip tightened even further and his teeth ground hard together.

"Stop _lying_!" He growled. "You _know_ what I'm talking about!"

The Joker pushed against the detective's grasp, but to little affect.

"No, I don't." He answered. "You know, for one whom so often accuses me of making no sense, I believe this time that particular distinction belongs to _you_."

Bruce raged.

"TELL ME!" He shouted, nearly at the top of his lungs, letting go of one of The Joker's wrists and rearing his fist back, moments later smashing it hard against the lunatic's temple.

White light exploded behind the thin man's eyes and his ears were filled with a vicious, high pitched ringing. And before any of it had even a chance to dissipate, he again was hit, harder then before.

"TELL ME, GOD DAMN YOU!"

And another blow.

And another.

Each preempted by a screamed demand that he explain himself.

Soon the whole lower half of The Joker's face was crimson, his eyes swelling, bubbles of blood coming from his nose.

The noise in his ears had grown almost deafening and he felt dizzy despite being lain out on the ground.

Even if he'd wanted to say something, the vigilante wouldn't have allowed it, he was being hit so frequently, even as the cowled man ordered him to talk.

He'd lost count of the number of shots he'd taken to the face and head at that point, though he was certain it was many, and The Joker wondered in fascination how it was he hadn't yet gone unconscious.

Batman again reared his fist back, ready to sink it against the madman's temple once more, and quick as he could manage, The Joker reached up, hooking his fingers inside the eye holes of the detective's cowl and pulling down.

Immediately he was released as Bruce fell back, his hands going to his head, trying to readjust his mask.

The Joker wasted no time then, rolling to his side and pushing himself with effort to his feet, dashing across to the other side of the cell. He had little time as Batman quickly regained his sight and turned, coming his way.

He had pushed himself up against the furthest wall from the cot, standing with his back and palms against it.

"Stay where you are!" He nearly shouted at Bruce, and the order momentarily halted his advance.

He stood starring at the psychopath.

The Joker's eyes were rapidly swelling shut, his breathing becoming belabored by the blood filling his nose, and nausea swirled in his stomach from the blood he'd swallowed.

"I haven't… the _faintest_ idea what it is you're talking about." He again reiterated, finally having gained a moment to do so. "Embarrassed as I am to admit, I haven't done _anything_ in the last day which would cause you to become so violent."

Bruce stood still for a moment, as though contemplating The Joker's words. And he gazed upon the madman, noticing how he looked actually _defensive_, as though he didn't _want_ to be hit. He'd never seen that in the lunatic before. He'd always acted as though he thrived on physical punishment.

His face twisted in to a frown.

"You think you can play to my sympathies!?" He suddenly spit. "Work me over with that boo hoo, woe is me bullshit like you do to those idiot doctors at Arkham, or those poor bastards you lure in to your traps, with all your… _charm_ and _sophistication_?! You think you can paint yourself to be the victim!? Not to _me_ you can't! You degenerate _freak_!"

The Joker's confusion went quickly as he realized just what it was the vigilante was speaking about. But in the moments he comprehended what Batman meant and thought to himself he really _didn't_ want to explain, the detective had again come upon him, latching tight to his collar and swinging him around, letting him go in time to crash against the room's porcelain sink. The edge dug sharply against The Joker's back and he fell fast to the floor, struggling to his hands and knees, getting there just before Bruce had once more reached him.

"_The dullard is actually going to kill me_." He thought, and a soft chuckle escaped his throat. "_And it wasn't even anything I did to cause it. Not purposefully! Hilarious_!"

In the next instant, he again was lifted from the floor, with such ease it was as though he were weightless, and flung across the cell.

He landed with a crash against the room's metal door, yet more of his ribs being displaced, and his head swam. It seemed an eternity for him to again push himself to his knees, though really it had been mere seconds, and he looked up, seeing the exits handle.

So he reached for it, feeling his fingers curl around it, and he pulled, the door coming open, slow and heavy.

He was sure this was useless, but he'd be _damned_ if he went out like this! He'd always dreamed to be the cause of his own demise. And while maybe indirectly he now _would _be, that went against his wish. It had to be his _own_ gag. His own, _intended_ gag. That's what he'd always wanted. That's how it was _supposed _to end.

He found himself somewhat shocked when he realized that he'd made it out of the cell, having squeezed between the door and its frame, through the small crack he'd managed in pulling the thing open.

But the victory was short lived, as a moment later Batman came through the same way, grabbing him by the back of his shirt's collar and his hair and pulling him up, before bodily swinging him back and then forward, letting him fly through the air and across the cold stone of the cave floor.

He landed against his shoulder and the side of his face hit the ground hard after. Spots of black began to puncture his line of sight, which already was obscured by his rapidly swelling eyes, and he truly wondered how much longer he would stay conscious.

He once more moved to get up when a sharp pain up his collar bone and left shoulder put him back down.

"Knew I shoulda' taken that Ty Quan Do class when I was eight…" He muttered to himself, than giggled.

Seconds later and he again felt Batman's fingers ensnare themselves in his hair and grab tight, pulling his face from the ground and jerking his head back.

"STOP… _LAUGHING_!" The vigilante screamed against his ear.

The order only caused the clown to burst out in hysterics as he took in the irony of his situation.

Bruce went ballistic, wrapping a forearm around to the front of The Joker's throat and falling back to his haunches.

Still holding fast to the madman's hair, Batman jerked his head back further, until his throat was fully exposed, and he moved his bicep against the soft flesh.

Releasing the lunatic's head, he took hold of his own wrist, creating a chock-hold, and he then began to _squeeze_. With all his strength, he squeezed, his one goal to stop the sound of _laughter_.

Reflexively The Joker gagged and chocked out, his body naturally trying to suck oxygen back in to his lungs. But he only sat there, his hands not coming up to pry Batman's arm away, no flailing about, no struggle to break free. He just sat there. And Bruce squeezed harder and harder, mad with the desire to pull tighter still.

And it seemed to the vigilante, in those seconds, as though time itself had stopped, like everything around them had gone silent. He couldn't even hear the gurgled noises now coming from the madman.

It felt like they both, the two of them, were sat on the edge of some precipice, some point beyond return.

Like they just hung there, floating in nothing…

"BATMAN!"

He was snapped from his surreality by the sound of a voice, screaming at him.

"BATMAN!"

And as his mind cleared, so too did the voice.

"BATMAN, STOP! YOU'RE GOING TO KILL HIM!"

A British accent... Alfred?

ALFRED!

He came suddenly back to the present, his hold on The Joker loosening at once as he realized what he was doing.

The thin man fell forward, on to his hands and knees, and he began inadvertently to cough, violently gasping for air, his body begging for it to survive.

Bruce looked at him as though confused, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, and then he turned and saw Alfred, just standing there, a look of total concern creasing his already lined features.

"Batman…" He began, more calmly then only moments ago.

Bruce just continued to stare until it dawned on him, abruptly, that the older man was standing within the same proximity as The Joker, and that should the madman turn around, he surely would see him.

"Al…" He was about to speak his name, but stopped short. "What are you doing here!?" He hissed, trying to keep his voice low, but his shock causing it instead to come out loudly.

"I was keeping station at the caves security monitor, as you _requested_." Alfred began to explain. "When I saw what was happening… What you were _doing_ to… to him…" He nodded in the direction of the still struggling Joker. "I knew I had to stop you…"

He leaned in closer.

"Sir, what were you _thinking_!?" He questioned in a sharp whisper. "I saw you barge in there like some crazed animal and start beating that… _man_ half to death! For no apparent reason!"

"What are you talking about?!" Bruce argued defensively. "You didn't see it!?"

"See _what_ Sir?!" Alfred questioned. "As far as I could tell, The Joker had neither attempted escape, nor had he provoked any such attack with an attack of his own! Now, please, don't misunderstand, but I come down here to find you chocking the madman to death, _completely_ lost in the act, and you'll forgive me for thinking something afoot!"

The vigilante only continued to gape at the butler.

"I understand the lunatic has a way of inciting _anger_ in you Sir, but…" He looked to The Joker, who by now had stopped coughing but still was visibly struggling to regain his composure. "If you could have _seen_ yourself… I find it rather a difficult thing to envision that what those miscreants at Arkham did to The Joker was any worse then what you yourself were just committing. Wasn't it _you_ who confessed to me that _because _of The Joker suffering his unfortunate mental deficiency, he shouldn't ever have been handled so… _barbarically_?! That the fact of his illness should be taken in to consideration by those charged with his _care_!? And isn't it _you_, Sir, who has taken it upon himself to be that charge?! I understand The Joker to be a _vile_ man Sir, but I could discern no cause for your attacking him so suddenly… so _viciously_. He in fact seemed rather _forlorn_, in fact quite _despondent_ when you burst so unannounced in to that cell and proceeded to ravage him from one end of the room to the other."

Bruce looked utterly lost for words, just vacantly glaring at the older man, only for him to break from the haze a moment later, and he shook his head.

"You have to get out of here!"

"Sir?" Alfred himself now looked lost.

"Get out of here. Now!" He ordered, standing.

"I will _not _Sir." The butler firmly stood his ground. "Our figurative cover is blown, as is." He nodded towards The Joker, and Batman turned, only to see the madman starring at the two of them.

And then he began a low chuckle.

"Sorry to break it to you kiddies…" The lunatic began. "But whatever _secret_ you've imagined yourselves keeping…" He paused, coughing. "I've known of for _years_."

"What!?" The detective turned fully, facing his enemy.

"What do you take me for Bat-babe?!" The Joker slowly pushed himself to his feet, nearly wincing at the pain which shot through his rib cage. "Some fool!? Because only a _fool_ would be blind to the role you play for the public…" He walked over to the crusader and his employee, starring down at the two of them. "It's just an act… _Bruce_ darling… How you go on living a fallacy half your life is _beyond_ me. I should think it would drive you _mad_." And suddenly he exploded in to laughter, allowing his hysterics to rake his body despite the immense pain it now caused.

Alfred starred wide eyed at the madman. He'd never actually encountered him before. Only seen footage and heard audio recordings of the lunatic. And of course, Batman's own accounts of their battles.

Standing face to face with him though, the butler finally understood what it was everyone was talking about. There was an air of overwhelming _menace _to the man, and though painfully thin, The Joker's height was nothing less then imposing as he toward over even Master Bruce. And the way he _laughed_. It was without restraint, heavy and piercing, as though literally he'd just heard the world's greatest joke. He sounded _mad_.

As the maniac's mirth finally died away, both Alfred and Bruce gazed at him in obvious discomfort, though for differing reasons.

"How long?" The vigilante finally asked.

"How long _what_?" The Joker looked at him with disapproval. "_Clarity_ dear. You seem to be having some difficulty with that lately."

"How long have you _known_!?" Batman spit.

The Joker waved his hand.

"Since nearly the beginning." He said.

Bruce starred wide eyed at him, as did Alfred.

"It's _nothing_." The madman continued. "If you're wondering why I haven't attacked you here before or come after your precious butler, it's because whatever character you portray to the masses is of no _concern _to me. You're living out some convoluted _fantasy _while away, but the only _reality_ is what you have with _me_!" He placed his hands on his chest to emphasize the point.

The three of them stood in silence for a long moment, just starring at one another, until Alfred decided he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

He stepped boldly forward.

"You'll forgive my saying so young man, but you are patently _wrong_." He addressed The Joker directly.

"Alfred!" Batman reached out for his shoulder, pulling him away from the madman.

The Joker looked at the butler with clear amusement playing on his features before he burst out laughing.

"Oh, you've got _bravado_ manservant!" He chuckled. "Young man!? I've been called many things in my time, but _never_ young man!" He continued to laugh.

Alfred stood squarely, stiffening at the psychopath's hysterics.

Abruptly, The Joker's giggling cut short and he starred at the butler hard.

"I'm not wrong." He said, his voice all at once serious.

"You are!" Alfred insisted. "Master Bruce existed within this world _long _before you sullied it with your presence, and from what I've seen of your apparent disregard for your own safety, he'll be here long after you've left it too!"

The smiled had completely vanished from The Joker's face then and Bruce starred gape mouthed at his employee.

"For an Englishman…" The lunatic began. "I'm sorry to say you're _sorely _lacking in manners."

He stepped towards the older man and immediately Batman placed himself between the two.

"You come _near _him Joker and I swear I'll _murder_ you!" He growled.

"Oh, you mean like you just did!" The sociopath clasped his hands together and smiled wide. "What fun we've been having!"

He looked over the vigilante's shoulder, towards Alfred.

"You're lucky Bat-boys here to protect you chrom-dom." He said. "Anyone who ever dared to speak to me that way rarely ever lived to tell the tale. I should cut out your tongue and peel off your eyelids."

For once, the older man's stoic expression faltered, and a very real flash of fear showed in his eyes as he sensed The Joker very much _meant_ what he said, indeed, was fully _capable_ of it.

"Back _off_ Joker!" Batman raged, pressing his hand against the maniac's flat chest and pushing him backward, hard enough for him to lose his balance and fall to the ground.

Alfred appeared startled as The Joker looked up from where he'd fallen.

And he just stayed sat there for several seconds, his brow creased before he pushed himself again to his feet.

"I'll be going back to my cell now." He said, his voice quiet as he started past the two other men.

Batman pushed Alfred behind him, keeping his eyes fixed on the lunatic until he disappeared back in to the cell, closing the door behind him.

Immediately he turned to the older man.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"I'm fine Master Bruce." Alfred assured him.

The vigilante sighed, bringing a hand to his temple.

He couldn't admit it, not out loud, but he felt suddenly, deeply ashamed.

What the hell had come over him!? He'd nearly _killed_ The Joker. He _would_ have if Alfred hadn't intervened.

And _why_!?

He'd somehow convinced himself, thoroughly, that the madman had purposefully, strategically even, forced tears from his eyes in some attempt to manipulate.

But looking back on it now, he realized that The Joker's confusion had been genuine. He hadn't had a clue what Bruce was talking about. Which only could have meant his show of earlier emotion had been _real_.

And what really disturbed the crusader was the realization that, it was his own refusal to accept any sign of humanity within The Joker which had caused him to delude himself in to seeing it as some malicious plot on the maniac's part, which in turn allowed him to exercise his desire to pulverize his enemy.

He was making _excuses_ to act out in violence.

And he wondered then about his own sanity, and whether he really was any better then those low-lives at Arkham who had tortured the madman. Whether he was any better then Warden Sharp…

And what of The Joker crying?

What could he make of that, and _why_ had he been?!

He shook his head.

It felt as though his entire world was falling apart.

Authors Note:

I know the links in my last installment didn't show up. So for anyone who wanted to watch them, just type youtube. before the rest that did show up in your address bar, and it should bring up the links.

About the story, thanks so much again for all the lovely reviews! They really do mean the world to me.

Things are heating up now I guess. The Joker _crying_, Bruce going nuts and almost _killing_ him, Alfred having to save him, The Joker telling them both that he already knew Batman's secret identity! Dang, where to go from here, huh? Haha. Anyway, we'll see and I hope you continue to enjoy it!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12:**

The Joker paced quickly across the small room, to the sink he'd only minutes ago cracked his back against and placed his hands on its sides, gripping it tight before turning the faucet as far as it's handle would extend and letting the water run for nearly a minute, then scooping the then freezing liquid up his large hands and splashing it across his face.

Every movement sent shocks of pain throughout his body, but he ignored it like it didn't exist and kept on in this motion for several minutes, until his face felt numb.

He was growing tired, _very _tired of this game and thought that soon he might abandon it.

Batsy was his greatest and clearly most reliable source of fun, to be sure, but he was being _entirely_ uncooperative and downright difficult.

His mouth twisted to a frown when the notion that he might actually have been _wrong _entered his mind. He'd thought this whole escapade would be some grand source of amusement, but with the big galoot acting as the King of Denial, well, it was turning in to anything _but_.

Just as the thought had past he heard the cell door open and he turned, glancing over his shoulder, seeing Batman come through.

He rolled his eyes.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" He asked sarcastically, turning from the sink and making his way to the cot.

"That's funny, coming from you." Batman replied.

"Oh, so you admit to thinking I'm funny now, hmm? It's about time! You know, this is a positive improvement! Think of it as a first step in the long road to recovery!"

"That's not what I meant." Bruce bristled.

"Well, close enough." The Joker waved his hand, bored, before crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall.

The vigilante didn't respond, just standing there, his eyes shifting to the floor.

Several seconds of silence past then, before The Joker finally spoke up.

"Listen sweetheart, I know you feel terribly _embarrassed_ by this latest bit of evidence supporting your overall, _general_ lack of control, but don't worry. Acceptance takes time, I understand. I just want you to know, if you need someone to help you through it… I'm there for you."

The detective looked up at him, his expression incredulous.

A split second later and The Joker erupted in to laughter, only to stop abruptly when he felt his rips shifting around and the sensation was non-too pleasing.

"But seriously babe…" He began again. "I know you're ashamed, but you've got to stop beating yourself up over giving in to your base desires. More important, you've got to stop denying them. Because honey-plumb, even an idiot could see that your latest episode was the inevitable end of too much stress buildup. You hold in what you want for too long…" He gave the crusader a knowing, sideways glance. "And eventually you'll explode out with it."

Batman remained silent.

"I mean honestly…" The Joker abruptly stood from where he was sitting and began to pace the room. "You left here in such a melee of agitation. I should have anticipated you'd show back up here with _pain _on your mind. Can't even enjoy a god damned magic show without convincing yourself it's a sin against God."

"Why were you crying Joker?" Batman ignored his commentary.

The madman assumed a puzzled expression.

"Crying?" He asked.

"Yes." The vigilante pressed. "You were crying. _Why_?"

The Joker smiled.

"I think you may be mistaken dear."

"I have security footage proving otherwise." Batman countered.

The Joker went still after that, standing in apparent contemplation for the moments following.

"Must have been some joke I thought up. I do so often reduce myself to tears with my comedic brilliance." He finally answered, continuing to pace.

Bruce shook his head.

"No. You weren't laughing Joker."

Again the lunatic halted, standing still for some seconds before shrugging.

"You honestly can't tell me you don't _remember_!?" The crusader asked with disbelief. "It's the whole reason I came storming in here in the first place! I thought you were trying to… to…"

"To _what_ Batman!?" The Joker suddenly cut him short, anger now apparent in his tone. "Entice you in to my web of deceit?" He threw his head back and laughed. "You're such a fool, you know that?"

"But you admit you remember?!" Batman went on.

"I admit nothing." The Joker waved his hand. "I have…" He stopped, going silent.

Bruce waited for him to finish, but as the seconds wore on, it became apparent he wasn't going to.

"You have what?" He pressed.

The madman shook his head and again began to pace.

"Nothing… nothing…" He began to mumble before abruptly he looked up at the detective. "I _told _you, you know _nothing_ about me!"

Batman started. There was a sudden shift in The Joker's tone, so drastic that it sounded almost as though he had another voice.

"What?" He asked.

"Not a _damn_ thing!" The Joker again spit. "You think… You think because you've got me locked in this little _lab _of yours… you think because you've pocked and prodded me with all your little tests and all your little experiments that suddenly you have the key to my psychology!? That you'll be able to use me then!? Well it's best you think _again _dear doctor!"

Batman looked at the madman with true bemusement.

"Joker, what in the _hell_ are you talking about? Now you're the one not making sense."

The thin man just shook his head vigorously.

"No… No. I'm going to get out of here. And when I do…" He again began a frantic pace, left to right.

Bruce felt his stomach drop as the very real sensation came over him that The Joker thought he was talking to someone else.

He approached him slowly.

"Joker. Listen to me, you're not making any sense. Who do you think I am?"

The Joker stopped abruptly.

"Stay away!" He seethed. "I _know_ who you are! You may have tricked me in to this place, but I won't be fooled again."

"_Joker_!" Batman though that maybe he should reach out and take hold of the lunatic, snap him from whatever… _episode_ he was having.

"Why do you keep calling me that!?" The madman questioned angrily. "That's not my name!"

At this Bruce stopped.

He starred hard at his enemy.

"That's not…" He began. "That's not your name?"

The Joker shook his head.

The vigilante swallowed. Was the maniac having some sort of a flashback?

"What… what is your name?" He dared to question.

Again The Joker shook his head.

"You know that already! You know everything, apparently!" He spit.

"But…" Bruce hesitated. "Do you know?"

"What in the _hell_ kind of a question is that?" The psychopath raged. "Of course I know! Or is this another of your _games_? Are you going to _douse_ me again if you don't hear what you want?"

Again, Bruce swallowed hard.

"Listen…" He started, not at all sure of how he should proceed. He'd never seen The Joker like this before. He'd never seen him in a state in which his mind had clearly transported him someplace else.

It was a chance for him to learn something about the madman. Actually _learn_ something.

"I want to help you." He said.

At this The Joker reacted violently, nearly falling backward and pressing himself against the wall.

"No." He said. "I can't think… I can't… I can't think straight anymore…" Suddenly he brought his hands to his head, balled in to fists and pressing against his brow ridge. He shook his head. "I can't _think_ straight anymore! I can't! I _CAN'T_!"

Batman stood starring, not knowing what to do or say.

Abruptly The Joker looked up.

"Get away!" He seethed. "Get away _now _or I swear to God I'll _kill_ myself! I'll find some way! And then what use will I be to you!? None! _None_!"

The vigilante reached out slowly.

"Listen, I'm not going to hurt you. Where do you think you are?"

"I told you to stay AWAY!" The Joker screamed and in the next instant, he lost it, literally throwing himself sideways in an attempt to escape Batman's encroaching figure, running straight in to the porcelain toilet bowl.

He wasn't thinking.

Bruce could see right away he was going to hurt himself, and so he reached out fully, taking hold of The Joker's arm and pulling him towards him.

"LET GO! LET GO OF ME YOU BASTARD!" The madman screamed louder then the detective had ever heard, struggling viciously against his hold.

Quickly Batman brought him in to a bear hug, wrapping his arms around The Joke's arms and torso and holding him tight.

Playing along to whatever he was seeing had been a bad idea. The Joker was losing it fast and he needed to be brought back down.

"LET ME GO! DAMN YOU, LET ME _GO_!" Still he fought against the vigilante's hold, pushing with whatever strength he had against it.

"JOKER, STOP!" Batman screamed. "LISTEN TO ME! YOU'RE HALLUCINATING! YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN!"

The Joker continued to go ballistic, pushing and pulling, struggling to break free with a verve Batman hadn't ever seen before. He was utterly _desperate _to get away.

As though he were _afraid_.

And suddenly, without any warning at all, he stopped, going limp in Bruce's arms.

A moment later and he looked up and around, and then over his shoulder at the crusader.

"Well isn't this cozy?" He said, a smile spreading across his lips, something familiar. "How long have we been like this? If you wanted some action, you only need ask. I mean, sneaking in while I'm asleep comes across as something pathetic darling."

Batman eyed the madman in shock, standing frozen.

"So are you gonna let me go, or am I gonna have to earn it?" The Joker again spoke, batting his eyelashes at the crusader.

And as if realizing the present, Bruce released him and stepped back.

The Joker wasted no time in brushing his hands down his pant legs and over his arms.

"So doll…" He began after a moment, turning to face the vigilante. "As much as I'd like to believe you were desperate to be near me, your past behavioral patterns tell me it isn't so. So… what were you doing, exactly?"

Batman starred at him wide eyed.

"You… You don't remember?" He asked, clearly bemused.

The lunatic turned his head slightly before giving it a shake.

"Afraid I don't darling." He said. "I seem to recall you storming in here as usual and accosting me with all manner of questioning, but things become a bit fuzzy thereafter. I assume I must have said something to rile you. It's so simple a task, you understand?" He chuckled. "And you must have repayed me in kind, as is your custom."

Bruce stood silently for a moment, saying nothing. He wasn't sure what to say.

"You punched me out!" The Joker said. "Am I right?"

The detective shook his head.

"No… No, you were… you were having some kind of an… of an episode…"

The madman took on an incredulous expression.

"An _episode_?" He asked before scoffing loudly. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"You were having some kind of a flashback." Batman tried to explain. "You thought I was someone else, and you seemed almost… almost afraid of me."

The madman eyed him hard for a moment, still wearing a look of disbelief before he erupted in to laughter.

"Oh Batsy, that's a good one." He managed between fits of giggles. "That's rich!"

"I'm not joking!" Batman hissed. "Why _else_ would I have grabbed you? You were about to injure yourself, _again_."

At this The Joker stopped laughing, looking questioningly at the detective.

"Alright lover-boy, I'll concede, I've had more then my fair share of blank spots. Period's where I've blacked out. But really, it's of no consequence. I put it up to all that electroshock they put me through in Arkham. Get enough of those electrical bad boys running through your skull, and you're bound to lose something." He laughed sharply.

"So you're aware that you experience black outs?" Bruce questioned in surprise.

"Well when one has moments in which they cannot recall consciousness, then yes, I assume its then that either I've blacked out… or past out, if I wake up imprisoned or in some other, unfortunate circumstance." Again he laughed.

"You were going on about me experimenting on you, about keeping you locked up as some kind of a test subject." Bruce dared to go on.

The Joker waved a dismissive hand.

"Like I said, happy hour at the asylum."

"But you were _afraid_ of me Joker!" Batman pressed harder. "_Actually_ afraid! You've never been scared… not really."

"And you've never been good at assessing my emotional state, so what should I take from that?" Again the lunatic dismissed him.

Batman shook his head, sighing in frustration.

"No…" he began. "Listen, I called you Joker and you didn't know who that was. You said that wasn't your name. I asked you what was and you said I already knew."

The Joker stopped then, starring at him.

"Did I?" He finally asked.

Batman nodded.

"Well I must have been having some fun." He chuckled. "Listen, let's say we have a game of chess? You do play, don't you?"

"Don't change the subject Joker. You weren't playing any games. You were as serious as I've ever seen you."

"You know, I beat what's his face once." The Joker ignored the vigilante. "That loony with delusions of world domination? Oh, what's his name? Al fool or something. He's old as the hills or some such, right? He was quite surprised when he heard me say check mate, I'll say." He laughed.

"Joker, _listen _to me! I can help you! If only you let me! Your past is buried somewhere inside you. If you'd try to remember, there's help for you, we could help you through whatever it is that causes you to be the way you are!"

Suddenly the lunatic's mouth twisted to a frown.

"The past is irrelevant. How many _times _must I explain this to you?!" He spit. "And no _thing _caused me to be as I am. I simply _am_! And in spite of your best efforts to convince me so, there's nothing _wrong _with the way I am. The very suggestion is offensive, and if you know what's best for you, you'll refrain from ever saying so again."

Bruce gapped at him for a long moment, unsure of how to respond. The Joker was again growing irritated and he could see the conversation would soon deteriorate to nothing worth while.

"Fine." He at last relented, turning away. "I believe we've spent our hour of time together."

"About 45 minutes, I'd say." The Joker mocked him.

The vigilante stood still, saying nothing, before heading for the door.

"What about that game of chess!?" He heard the lunatic yell out behind him, but only kept walking.

The Joker watched as the door slammed shut behind him.

"Spoil sport." He grumbled to himself after some moments, turning and throwing himself on the cot.

**

Sorry for the delay in chapters guys, and sorry for the shortness of this one. I've been too busy lately to actually write anything and I know this chapter kinda sucks. Hope you like it anyway.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13:**

He couldn't sleep. Not that he had ever had much luck in that department, as was. The most he ever could remembering sleeping, at any one time, had been 40 minutes. That was it. And that was after he'd been up for over a hundred hours. More usually he'd go unconscious somewhere between 15 and 20 minutes, sporadically throughout the day, before almost every time awaking with a start, as though he'd been slapped across the face. To him, it continually was a shock each time he regained awareness, his mind exploding with uncertainty and vague, half-formed thoughts from days, weeks, months… even years past. Nothing was ever clear, and it was rare that he immediately knew where he was or how he'd gotten there. Most usually those things would come only after he'd been conscious for a good five minutes.

He realized that to be in such a perpetual state of unknowing, as he often was, would be frightening to most others. But he frankly didn't care and took it in stride.

He laughed, remembering how Harley had been greatly put off their first morning together, and his genuinely not seeming to know who she was or where she'd come from. And he really _hadn't _known. He'd thought she was some strange woman, unfortunate enough to wonder upon him.

The _best _part though had been the ridiculous relief which ran visibly over her face when he finally _did_ remember her. He'd giggled sporadically for hours that day off of her expression alone.

Gradually, as the girl continued as a presence in his life, his forgetfulness of her became less and less, until every time he awoke, he knew who she was, though how she'd gotten there wasn't always as assured, nor was it always a good thing, for her, that he knew her. Her constant hanging on drove him to great fits of anger as times and he wouldn't hesitate to take it out on her in violent and vicious ways.

She took it without complaint, but still, he could see the fear in her eyes whenever he turned on her, and it gave him great pleasure.

He thought maybe that was why he kept her around. She was afraid of him, but she none the less allowed him, continually, to abuse her. She never ran away. She never _broke_. And she was funny. She was a reliable source of joy for him.

So yes, that must have been the reason, he thought, pushing himself from the cot.

Pain ripped up both his sides, his face twisting up with the sensation, nearly doubling him over and on to his knees. But he pushed through it, heading towards the door.

He was bored, and tired of waiting, and he wouldn't tolerate either as he again removed the casing of the lock mechanism and began fittling with the wires.

Less then a minute later and he heard the click of the locks swishing open.

He pushed against the door and it opened slowly, it being heavy, and he being, at the moment, weak. He half expected Batman's fist to come souring through the entrance and connect with his face, but it never came as he strode from the cell with confidence, out in to the cave, thinking maybe this time he'd take the time to explore. It was, after all, a big place, with lots of gadgets he was sure he would find some interest in.

The big, bad bat wasn't anywhere in sight. Probably up top, conversing along with that foolhardy old man.

Probably watching him on one of their monitors.

He didn't care.

"This is cool." He thought, making his way over to display stand made of glass, encasing a number of old world weaponry, swords and knifes, bows and arrows, etc…

His eyes rested on a spiked ball and chain, attached to a wooden handle and his eyes went wide, a smile spreading across his lips.

"Ohh…" He whispered, touching his hand to the glass.

He looked for a way to open the case, a lock of some kind, but there was nothing visible and he quickly lost his patience, rearing his elbow back before smashing it with force against the glass.

The display quickly shattered, several shards digging painfully in to the skin of The Joker's arm. He ignored it, reaching in to the case and taking up the weapon.

It was heavy. Heavier then it looked and he had trouble holding it. So he took it with both hands and began looking around for something he could break.

He could take a few whacks at that car of his, though he knew from experience the damn thing was nearly indestructible and he doubted he'd be able to do more then scratch it up.

The computer would be fun, he thought. Definitely would piss Batsy off the most.

So he began to drag the ball and chain in the consul's direction, stopping a good foot and a half from it and lifting the weapon up.

He had the thing hoisted over his shoulder and had begun its decent downward when all of a sudden the weight was relieved from his grasp and he was swinging with nothing but his arms.

Quickly he spun around and was faced with an enraged Batman, grasping the ball and chain in one hand.

Before he had even a chance to react, the vigilante had brought his free arm up and without any sort of warning, backhanded The Joker across the face, knocking him backward and down, watching as the madman skid across the floor.

"Get up." He ordered, his tone flat.

The Joker wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth, looking down to see the blood.

"Humorless…" He mumbled beneath his breath.

Bruce ignored the comment, throwing the weapon aside, stepping towards the sociopath, reaching down, taking him by his arms and pulling him roughly to his feet.

"You left your cell." He said lowly, holding The Joker only inches from his own face. "That's a deal breaker clown."

"I was bored." The madman explained, as though it would make all the difference.

Batman pushed him roughly away then and he again lost his balance, falling against the computer's control board.

The pain shot through him like fire and he couldn't control the loud gasp that escaped his throat, nor his body's betrayal as he collapsed to his knees and fell forward on to his hands.

He was taking too many hits now and physically, he just couldn't handle it any more.

And he hated it.

The vigilante's face immediately twisted in concern as it dawned on him suddenly that in his rage he must have re-broken the madman's ribs. He hadn't even thought of it before, too consumed by his own frustration.

He moved towards his enemy.

"Joker…" He bent down, reaching out a hand to help him.

But the psychopath reacted violently, hitting his hand away.

"Don't _trouble _yourself!" He spit, and the vigilante recoiled at the venom he heard in the madman's tone, watching as he struggled to his feet.

"Joker, I didn't realize…" He began, but the lunatic cut him off, shaking his head.

"No doll, it's fine, really." The Joker leaned against the consul, his breath labored.

The vigilante starred wide eyed at him for a long moment.

What the hell was he doing?! It was as though he couldn't help himself from _beating_ the man. It was like he felt compelled to it, despite his rational telling him to stop or he'd never be rid of the maniac.

"Let me help you." He finally said, again reaching out a hand.

He watched as the madman suddenly doubled over and his body began to shake with laughter, quiet at first.

"Oh, sweetheart, I need your kind of help like a need a hole in the head… which, some might argue, I need very much!"

And quickly his laugher grew to outright hysterics as he slapped his knee and tears began to sprout from the corners of both his eyes.

Bruce watched, stunned.

"Joker, I mean it, I… I'm sorry."

The lunatic's laughter cut abruptly and he turned toward the crusader, eyeing him with fury.

"I told you once before, don't be sorry." He began. "It doesn't be_come_ you!" He lunged suddenly at Batman, raking his fingers across his eyes.

The crusader fell back, grabbing at his face. He hadn't at all expected that and only a moment later he felt a hard object slam down against the back of his head and he realized with dismay The Joker's retained quickness.

He spun, hoping to catch the clown by the shirt. But his emotions were riding high then, angry with himself for getting near to the lunatic with his guard down. And now he paid for it as he was cracked across the face with yet another heavy blow, knocking him to his back.

The world spun in dizzying circles as he looked up from where he lay, an instant later his vision greeted by the sight of The Joker, leaning down over him, starring at him, a huge grin plastered across his face.

"Batsy, darling, that was positively _shameful_. I'm very, _very _disappointed in you. So uncharacteristically inattentive."

He could hear the madman, could make out his words, but his voice sounded distant, as though echoing far off in some cavernous room.

He tried to reach up, to grab the maniac, but instead was met with a searing pain running down his arm, and he soon saw the weapon which The Joker had been using to assault him. It was a power drill, one he'd left by the computer while doing some repairs only a day before. He'd slammed the butt of it against his elbow, causing the limb to go numb only seconds later.

"You know honey bunny, it's been fun, watching you so easily riled. In fact… I don't think… I don't think I've ever had such an opportunity, in all our years of rivalry, I've never seen you lose control so simultaneously. I had hardly to do a thing." He laughed. "It's been a unique experience, really, which now has become so rare a thing."

He bent down, patting Batman lightly on the cheek.

"But all good things must come to an end… or some such nonsense…" He waved a hand. "What I mean to say my sweet is… my fun here has run its course, and it's well past time I take my leave. There are matter to attend, you know, and if I'm to accomplish what I have in mind, it's necessary that I recover which, joyous as I am to say so, you aren't allowing me to do. It only reaffirms what I already know… which is, you're as much a maniac as I am." Again he laughed, more sharply, his usually soft voice careening in to a high pitched shrill. "Only difference being, you restrain your violence, deny nature, as it were, _smother_ it. I…" He threw his arms and his head back, swaying slightly, giggling. "I _revel _in it… _live_ in it…" He stopped, looking down at the vigilante. "And so too I'll _die_ in it."

"Joker, please, wait…" Bruce again tried reaching up, tried pushing himself to a sitting position.

"I've waited long enough dear…" The madman whispered, and his eyes suddenly went vacant. He just stood there, still, starring ahead at nothing it seemed.

Bruce looked at him and for a moment, it seemed as though time had frozen, and the two of them were caught as they were.

And then it seemed abruptly The Joker snapped from it and his gaze turned again to the crusader, fire in his eyes.

"No more _time_ for waiting!" He spit, and an instant later he brought the butt of the drill down across Batman's temple, knocking him cold.

**

He awoke with a splitting headache, instinctually bringing his hands to his temples where his blood throbbed most.

He groaned, sitting up, wholly confused, not remembering how he'd gotten to where he was. And in a flash, it came back to him. His eyes shot wide and in a panic he stood too quickly, nearly falling again from the dizziness.

"Alfred…" He breathed, pushing forward, ignoring the pain in his arm and skull, towards the stairs leading to the manor.

He raced up them as quickly as his legs would allow, practically crashing through the old grandfather clock, out in to the study.

"ALFRED!" He called, dashing across the room, looking in each direction before flying in to the hallway.

"ALFRED!"

He moved from room to room, seeing nothing, his panic increasing as he continued to call out the older man's name with no response.

He could literally feel the relief wash over him then when he entered the mansions entry way and found Alfred just coming to, sitting up uneasily, his hand rubbing along his jaw.

"Alfred!" Bruce ran to him, pulling his cowl from his head. "Alfred, are you alright!?" He bent down, supporting the butler's back with his hand, placing his other along his friends shoulder.

Alfred looked at him, his expression startled at first. But quickly he gained his composure.

"Indeed Sir." He said. "And you?"

"I'm fine Alfred." The vigilante offered. "What happened?"

"I could ask the same of you Master Bruce." The older man pointed out, getting unsteadily to his feet, Bruce helping him.

He began to dust himself off.

"I was occupied, doing the dishes after you'd gone down to take care of the "problem" as you put it. I heard a loud crash come from the study and so went to investigate, expecting yourself Sir."

"My God…" Bruce breathed in disbelief, afraid to hear of what happened next.

"Devil would be the more appropriate term Master Bruce." Alfred corrected him. "As you can imagine, I was somewhat taken aback when I saw The Joker standing there. You may have noticed on your way to me that he knocked over a rather high priced piece of art."

Bruce shook his head. He hadn't been looking for anything but the butler.

"Well, needless to say, it no longer retains its value." The older man noted with a hint of disgust in his tone.

"What did he do to you!?" Bruce demanded.

"Nothing. At least, until I foolishly approached him Sir."

"You _approached_ him?!" The crusader questioned with disbelief.

Alfred gave a nod.

"He stormed past me. It was quite surreal, if I may say so myself. It was as though he were totally oblivious to my presence."

Batman continued to stare intently.

"Well, I could see he was meaning to leave the premises, and I knew that automatically would mean the placing of innocents in harms way, and I thought to allow so, without lifting even a finger, would, in the least, be morally ambiguous."

"Alfred, he's _incredibly _dangerous, you shouldn't have…"

"I am _aware _of that Master Bruce, and I realize now the error in my judgment."

Bruce sighed.

"Go on."

"Well, I went after him, taking up a poker from the fire place, thinking that should be sufficient to use as a weapon against him. He walks with some speed Sir. He was already to the foyer when I at last caught up with him."

"_STOP!" Alfred called after the lunatic. "What have you done with Master Bruce?!" _

_The Joker ignored him, continuing forward._

"_You horrible wretch of a being, I insist you stop or I'll be forced to halt your progression myself."_

_At this the madman did stop and he turned slowly._

"_Will you?" He asked._

"_I will." Alfred nodded, outwardly appearing calm, though inside he felt a very real chill grip him. _

_The Joker smirked._

"_I suggest you stay where you are old man. Batsy's going to be irate as is, whenever he finally wakes."_

_With that the lunatic again turned, continuing towards the front door._

_Alfred breathed in, trying to steady himself._

_The Joker was horribly intimidating, his skin as white as paper, his hair a rich, thick green, his eyes much lighter, looking almost florescent, and his towering height, contrasting surreally with his thin frame._

_Finally he mustered the courage._

"_I can't let you leave." He said, stepping towards the maniac._

_The Joker paid him no mind, still continuing forward._

_Alfred jogged past him then, laying himself against the door._

"_As I said young man, I cannot allow you to leave this place."_

_The Joker stopped, looking down on him, his mouth twisting to a frown._

"_You're a foolish sort, aren't you?" He said._

_Alfred swallowed hard but managed to hold his ground. He didn't respond._

"_Move." The Joker ordered, any hint of humor gone from his voice._

_The older man shook his head._

_The madman cocked his head to the side for a moment, as though studying Alfred, and then he moved forward._

"_I'm warning you!" Alfred leveled the poker up then. "I won't hesitate to use this."_

_This elicited a sharp laugh from the lunatic._

"_Oh, you're a funny man." He said. "And lord knows, I appreciate the laughs. But you're scared. I can see you are, despite you're trying to hide it beneath that polished exterior. I'll tell you once more. Move."_

_Again The Joker moved forward and Alfred knew it was now or never. He raised the poker and swung down with it, aiming for the madman's shoulder. And he was sure he would meet his target until he felt the swinging motion stopped abruptly and he saw The Joker had taken hold of the rod._

_An instant later and he'd ripped it from the older man's hands, tossing it aside for it to skid across the marble floor._

"_Bad idea." The Joker said, his tone hushed, and in the next moment, he'd taken hold of Alfred by the lapels of his jacket, swinging him around, than pulling him close._

"_I could kill you." He whispered, a malicious grin spreading across his lips, baring his large, white teeth._

_Alfred starred in wide eyed horror._

"_But… time is short for me. I must be going."_

"I believe he punched me then Sir, right across the jaw. I must say, he's rather a bit _stronger_ then he appears, isn't he? He disarmed me with astonishing ease and swung me about as though I were a rag doll."

"He's deceptively strong." Batman nodded. "Much stronger usually then he is right now even."

"Listen, are you sure you're alright?" Bruce again asked.

"Fine Sir. If I may ask, how exactly was he able to slip past you and up in to the manor?"

"I'll explain later. Right now I need to know how long he's been gone. Do you remember when all this happened? The time I mean."

Alfred glanced down at his wrist watch.

"It appears to have occurred half an hour ago Sir."

The vigilante looked up at the door. "He can't have gotten far, not with those cracked ribs." He said, more to himself then to the butler.

"Look, I'm going to take the car and look for him. Will you be alright here on your own?"

"As always Master Bruce." Alfred reassured.

**

The Joker had immediately taken to the woods surrounding the area, knowing Batman would soon be on his tail.

He was good at getting lost. The best, really. But Batman was also an extremely adept tracker, and he couldn't take any chances. He had to get away, for his own purposes.

The growth and shrubbery were thick and he laughed, thinking how much Pam would love it here.

"Silly cow that she is." He spoke quietly to himself, pushing some low hanging branches away from his face.

He was used to the woods. He spent weeks, sometimes even months on end living in the ones surrounding Arkham. He wasn't even sure how, but somehow he'd known how to survive. It wasn't something he learned, not then. He just _knew_. How to trap animals, to build fires and shelters, which during Gotham's bitter winters was necessary, unless one wanted to freeze to death. It was strange, like instinct, but he didn't question it, didn't wonder from where he'd attained the knowledge. He wasn't much of one for dwelling on things unknown, at least, not in regards to himself.

It was the city's foolery, placing the asylum along the edge of a place one could easily disappear in to.

And he made use of it.

In the beginning, during his first several escapes, the authorities had spent several days combing the area for him, with no success. But as the years went on, they spent at most a few hours now before moving to the city.

The only one to ever catch him in the woods had been Batman.

Again he pushed a bundle of branches from his face.

"I'm coming for you Sharpie…" He giggled to himself. "I'm cooomiiiing."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14:**

_He awoke in a white room, bright lights overhead, blinding him, and then he tried to move and realized he couldn't, his hands bound behind him, his ankles shackled together by a short chain._

_Panic griped his heart and he felt like maybe he knew what was happening but couldn't quite remember. Like all this was familiar, somehow, but all at once alien._

_He struggled then, rolling from his back and forcing himself to his knees._

_He felt dizzy, fighting to maintain his sense of balance._

_The room had the look of an operating ward out of some horror flick, bright and sterile, with complex machinery spread evenly out, both along the walls and at the spaces center._

_Looking down, he realized the floor was tile, and he noticed for the first time the cool of it seeping through the thin cotton of his pants, against his knees, and the discomfort the hard material was causing him._

_He thought maybe he should stand, but quickly understood it would do him no good, not with his ankles linked together as they were._

_He swallowed, his eyes falling over the rooms equipment. Several of the machines looked to be monitoring devices of some sort, also as you might find in a hospital._

_He squeezed his lids shut._

_God, why couldn't he remember?_

"_Good evening my boy. Glad to see you've finally woken from your nap." _

_He was snapped from his contemplation by the sound of a voice suddenly filtering through the room, echoing off the walls. It was accented, though just barely, British, maybe, articulate._

_He looked around. _

"_W-who's there?" He spoke, his voice coming out a shaky breath._

"_Who I am is of no consequence, dear boy. The matter, really, concerns you and you alone."_

_He swallowed hard and already he could feel the familiar, numbing sensation of fear begin to take hold along his limbs and digits._

_Again he closed his eyes, shaking his head._

"_I must be dreaming, I must be…" He muttered to himself._

"_Oh no, I'm afraid not." The voice interrupted him. "No, this is all quite real, I assure you."_

_He looked up. Whoever it was, they were speaking to him through an intercom system._

"_What…" He tried to steady his voice. "What do you want?" He managed at last._

"_Oh, right to the questions, I see. Well, an inquisitive mind is an intelligent one. So far you're holding true to all the glorious things I've heard of you. Though clearly, it's too early to say."_

"_H-heard of me?" He continued to look for the intercom, as though by locating it he might glean how to free himself from the place. _

"_Oh yes! I've been keeping close watch of you for quite some time, Anthony by boy."_

_The slow encroachment of fear quickly turned to terror then as he was struck by the sickening sensation that this had all played out a hundred times before and though he knew the outcome, there wasn't a thing he could do to stop it._

"_Who are you!?" He cried out, his voice breaking with the emotion now spilling out from him. "What do you want with me!?"_

_The voice laughed._

"_It didn't take them long, did it Anthony, for them to filter you out from the influx of other abandoned children, coming daily through their doors? Oh no. As soon as they'd gotten you processed and enrolled in their institute's meager educational system, they were indeed fast to spot you for an exceptionally bright boy. Though clearly they had no idea just __how__ bright until they began evaluation. But they quickly found out, didn't they? Your intelligent quotient exams were off the charts. More remarkable still though was your apparent ability to glean information from others about their lives, about who they were, their most well guarded secretes, their deepest desires, their greatest fears and insecurities, all by simply spending __time__ with them. And not great __quantities__ of time either. No. You were remarking with frightening accuracy the root cause of someone's nervous twitch, or what caused them to dress a certain way, __carry__ themselves a certain way, why they would act this way and that. You would comment in passing which of the other children had been abused. Not merely __that__, but specifying the exact __sort__ of abuse they suffered. And you were __right__, every __time__. At first the staff thought you were perhaps playing some sort of elaborate trick. And I'll admit, I myself thought this for a time. That you somehow had been getting your hands of privileged information unavailable to anyone else. But those notions were quickly dispelled as you began displaying this ability with people outside the orphanage, for whom there were no available records on site. No, instead they soon realized, as did I, that you in fact were in possession of some kind of __super__ perception, an entirely unique ability to view the world around you without a filter, without the interference of preconceived notions or judgments. Without any personal bias. Your discovery, it has to be said Anthony, was utterly enthralling! Some even regarded you as a metahuman, though you displayed no other remarkable capabilities beyond your incredible mind. But that's enough, isn't it? You can see the truth where others are blind to it."_

"_Please…" He began, his voice coming out small and frail. "Please, just leave me alone. I don't… I don't want to do this anymore…"_

_The voice ignored his pleas, continuing in its monolog._

"_It wasn't long before word spread about you dear boy and the government wanted in on the action, attempting, at first, to solicit you in support of their own agenda, as an interrogator of terror suspects and other such criminals. But the outcry was deafening. No one would stand for a child being so blatantly exploited. At least, not until they were offered a 200% increase in their institute's budget and some rather extravagant perks for those who ran it."_

_He could feel the tears stinging the back of his eyes now, threatening to spill over._

"_And from there, poor Anthony, you were carted off to Washington. You created a revolution in intelligence tactics, did you know that? Well, what am I saying, of course you do! Someone with your intellect knows just about everything. No more torture. When they wanted information from a suspect, all that was required was for you to be brought in to the room with them. If said suspects were unwilling to talk to you, well, then torture would again become a factor. Oh, but they were so __terribly__ confused when told that all that was required of them was to converse with this 10 year old boy. Even more confused when told any subject would suffice. They had absolutely no __idea __they were revealing so much about themselves and their plans, just by talking about general, every day topics. You could tell when they were lying and when they weren't, you could tell what they really meant and what they really felt by things they would say, things seemingly totally unrelated to what the government was after, you could tell by the tone in their voices." The voice again laughed. "Brilliant doesn't really begin to describe you, does it Anthony?"_

_He shook his head, slouching forward slightly, unable to control it now as the tears began to slide down his cheeks._

"_Of course, because of your unique abilities, you were classified as a weapon. One the United States couldn't afford to let fall in to the hands of others. And so they erased any evidence of your existence and made sure to keep you tight under lock and key. You weren't allowed interaction with anybody outside of your duties, no play time with other children, no social life to speak of. You're education consisted strictly of whatever criteria would make you more useful to __them__. You learned an incredible number of different languages, in remarkably quick time. What was your general learning curve? 2 weeks, before you had a strong enough grasp of any language to hold an entire conversation in it? You were taught about different cultures, customs, histories, etc… All in all, you were a great asset to old Uncle Sam, weren't you dear boy? It's a pity, really, that they couldn't show you greater curtsy for all your trouble. In fact, they treated you rather poorly, did they not Anthony?"_

_Again he shook his head, falling back on to his bottom._

_The voice continued._

"_You were rather like a prisoner. Kept in a single, bare room. Never allowed out except under strict supervision. No friends, no family… no freedom. I have to say Anthony, I myself find it befuddling how they assumed they could keep a boy as absurdly intelligent as yourself in such conditions and not expect, at some point, rebellion. From what I've learned, once you voiced your displeasure, they warned you to keep your mouth shut. And it has to be said, you must have known what they meant, what they intended if you disobeyed. But still, you persisted. Fascinating, isn't it? How even the most intelligent among us will can allow stubbornness and desire to cloud reason? You began to refuse your help then, yes? You refused to interrogate any more suspects until your demands were met. They were simple demands too, if I recall correctly. You wanted to be allowed outside without constant company. And a chance to see the friends you had made, back at the orphanage? Isn't that right? But apparently, they didn't like this new found attitude. And so what was their response again? Oh, yes, they began to use high powered tazzers on you, correct? Whenever you refused cooperation? They would electrocute you until you gave in, or until you passed out. Whichever came first. Though usually it was the latter. You're incredibly resilient, it was found out."_

_The voice stopped then, and for a moment he thought this nightmare recollection of his life before would end, but then it started again._

"_You were becoming less of a resource to them then. More and more you were kept locked away in that room. For months on end, they'd never let you out. You really had become a prisoner. Which, apparently, you disliked. I really am amazed at their foolery. They should have anticipated you'd escape. Though I'm still in the dark as to how you accomplished it. They think escaping from prison is a big to do. Escaping from a government facility, well, that's practically unheard of. Still, you __did__ accomplish it. And then you disappeared on to the streets, where you've been living for the past six years, yes? You knew to avoid the authorities, who would have put you back in to the system, and from there, it wouldn't have been long before they found you again. Clever, clever boy you are Anthony. But little did you know, __I've __been keeping watch all this time. And now that I've finally gotten hold of you…!"_

"_Please… please…" He begged. "W-what do you want? What do you want with me?" _

"_Why Anthony, what a __silly__ question! I should think you know by now! Don't play __dumb__! I want to study your mind! You're unique, fantastic mind. How it works, how it came to be, and hopefully, eventually, to reproduce it!"_

He hit stop, leaning back in the chair, feeling the tips of his fingers go numb.

It had been a hunch. Nothing more. After combing the area for hours, and a half-hearted search through the downtown district of the city, he'd decided to look here. It was an early haunt of the lunatic's, a spot he'd found him in on more then one occasion during their first few encounters. It struck him as odd at first. He knew The Joker was smart. So he couldn't understand why he kept coming back where he knew Batman would find him. But he did. It was a laboratory of some sort, long forgotten, outfitted with all kinds of equipment, though not of the madman's usual fair. The Joker usually dealt in chemicals and the like. But this place was loaded with brain scan machinery, and other medical equipment, such as heart rate and blood pressure readers. Then other things more in line with what he would expect from the sociopath. Electroshock equipment, cabinets filled with various serums and medicines, vice grips. Things he knew could be used to torture.

He hadn't thought of this place in years, not since The Joker had stopped using it. Only on an off chance was he was reminded of it, when the lunatic had been having that bizarre episode, where he'd thought he was talking to some doctor, one he accused of performing tests on him. It had made Bruce think of this place.

He'd never bothered to look beyond the one room. He'd never really thought to. Every time he found The Joker, it had been there. Never in any of the complexes other areas.

And again on a hunch, maybe out of the desperation of having lost the madman, he began a search of the place, and that's when he'd come upon it. A viewing room, adorned by an array of TV monitors, up against the farthest wall, and on the desk, a long line of video cassettes, each marked with a date, the earliest going back to 18 years earlier, the latest marked at nearly a year later.

Purely out of curiosity he'd taken the first tape and inserted in to the VCR, pressing play.

That security footage had come up.

He'd barely recognized The Joker with a regular skin tone and jet black hair, or as several inches shorter. He was just a boy. Maybe 15, 16 years old, at the most.

He'd only become certain it was him when he heard him speak. The voice, though slightly higher, was his, unquestionably, with the exact same speech inflections and soft timbre.

Then he noticed the same, sharp features, the high cheek bones and long nose, and his incredibly thin body.

And then the voice over the intercom began to talk about him. And only minutes in, he realized he was describing the exact same psychology the doctors at Arkham had identified in The Joker and labeled as "Super Sanity".

He looked down at the cassette, holding it in his hands.

"Anthony…" He whispered.

**

He woke with a start, sitting up quickly, feeling the immediate chill of the wind through his hair and across his face.

At some point he'd fallen asleep, _that_ he knew. Though for how long, he had no idea. He knew it was maybe half an hour before sun rise, as the sky had already begun to lighten.

The sun was just now coming over the horizon, so he figured he must have been asleep for close to that amount of time.

Good enough.

He rose, dusting himself off, peering down through the thicket.

He wanted to get to the city. He would have done a straight shot there, usually, but his injuries were causing him difficulty and, as much as he hated to admit it, he'd needed a rest.

But now he felt fine. He'd call what's his face once he'd gotten somewhere secluded... Dr. Huffington. That was it.

He pushed forward then. He was right on the edge of the woods now. The most dangerous part would be getting along the road leading in to Gotham from here. But he knew he could get by without being seen. And so he strode with confidence out of the brush, making his way towards the city.

**

He'd collected the tapes, all of them, and brought them back to the cave. He wouldn't find The Joker that day, he knew that. And most likely the madman would be laying low for at least the next month while he recovered from his injuries. So he thought it was safe, at least for now, to attend to this.

He still couldn't believe it, what he'd found. For years he'd tried finding out more about who his greatest enemy was, always coming to a dead end.

There had never been anything concrete, nothing factual about The Joker. All he'd ever come up with were rumors and innuendo, at best. At worst, straight out lies.

The Joker himself did nothing to make things clearer, constantly spinning different tales recounting his childhood. He rarely told the same story twice.

For him to find footage, _actual_ footage of him _before _the accident, that was unbelievable. And not just that, but with the voice of a man relaying a clear picture of the lunatic's childhood.

Bruce had felt a very real sickness grip him as he'd listened. To describe what he now knew of The Joker's childhood as horrible would be a gross understatement. And to imagine what became of him in the years he'd lived on the street, in DC of all places, as nothing more then a boy! It was terrible.

Making it still worse was the feeling of absolute dread which overtook him, listening to the voice describe what he'd wanted The Joker for.

Bruce found himself hesitant to watch the rest of the tapes, knowing deep down what they would surely entail.

And he was surprised by the feeling, with knowing that watching The Joker being tortured wasn't something he wanted to see.

Though seeing him as a normal human being, not the bizarre, crazed psychopath he was used to, but a vulnerable, young kid who looked like a strong breeze might knock him over, he thought maybe that was the cause of his apprehension.

But his curiosity was strong, and more important still, he knew if he could gain knowledge of who The Joker was before, he could be infinitely more affective against him.

For one thing, he hadn't ever entertained the notion that The Joker's unique psychology had been in place before he'd been immersed in that vat of chemicals. Like every psychiatrist who'd evaluated him over the years, he'd simply assumed it was a result of the chemicals and their warped reaction on his physiology and mind.

But apparently, that hadn't been the case.

It was something he'd always had.

Resuming where he'd left the first tape off, the footage soon showed two, large men entering the room with The Joker. With Anthony. _Anthony_. He couldn't get over that he'd finally found out his name. His _real_ name. And its normalcy shocked him, though he knew it shouldn't have.

It was just, he couldn't ever associate _anything_ normal with this man.

The men had proceeded to pull him to his feet, removing his shackles and forcing him towards what looked to be an operating table of some kind.

And Batman saw fear in The Joker's eyes then. Something which he'd never seen before. Something he thought he'd never see.

He was pulling away in vain, trying to escape the men's strong grasp about his thin arms, his expression twisting suddenly in horror. And he began to beg for them to stop, to leave him alone.

It was entirely disturbing, surreal, like something out the twilight zone. Seeing it in the man he'd known for the better part of 14 years now, it seemed _unnatural _even.

And as he watched these two, ordinary looking men literally manhandle and overpower the one person he'd come to consider as presenting a real threat, forcing him on to the table, Bruce found himself having to look away.

It was _wrong_. It was all wrong. And he couldn't understand why he felt that way. But he did and he couldn't help it.

Finally, the vigilante forced himself to look and saw that they had strapped The Joker down by the wrists and ankles. Except it _wasn't_ The Joker. It was a boy, with a real name, a name he now _knew_. And they'd begun placing some monstrous, metal device on to his head, wired to a machine off to the side, tightening it with what looked like screws. And then they had his shirt lifted up and they were sticking white pads across his chest, connected to the same machine.

Only moments later and they'd flipped some switch, and the boy coiled like a tight wound spring, his eyes squeezing shut, his teeth clenching together, his face contorted in all too obvious pain.

And then they stopped, and repeated, over and over again, until, finally, he began _screaming_, crying out in agony, begging them to stop. And Bruce barely recognized the voice then, barely recognized the person. It just didn't seem possible, that the boy in the footage was the same man he'd had in this cave only hours before. But it was. And his torture wouldn't cease for another ten minutes, by which time he was sobbing, tear stains streaking across his face, his entire body trembling.

Bruce thought he might be sick. He knew what they were doing. Testing his brain wave activity against different levels of electrical current.

It was something he'd heard about them doing in Arkham, but it never had been confirmed. But even if it were so, that was The Joker. He could handle it. He was uncannily tough.

But again, the crusader couldn't really reconcile the boy he saw with the man he knew. They seemed worlds apart in every way.

Yet somehow, deep down, he _knew_ they were one and the same.

When they'd finally un-strapped him from the table and pulled him from it, he barely could stand, and instead of supporting him, they simply dragged him forward a few feet before tossing him to the floor.

And then the voice came in again, telling him he'd performed very well, given plenty to work with until their next session.

And from there the tape ended.

The rest, essentially, were more of the same. Different tests, serums injected intravenously, word association, Rorschach, even hand/eye coordination. But most seemed to remain cruel and tortuous in nature.

The man who the voice belonged to had begun making appearances about the third tape in. He wasn't someone Bruce recognized, but The Joker grew to be deathly afraid of him as each time he would come, it usually meant more sever experimentations.

After a time, The Joker, Anthony, Bruce wasn't sure what to call him anymore, he began to resist, to fight back, which each time brought him nothing more then a sever beating.

He was small. At that time already nearly six feet, but painfully thin and not at all yet fully developed. He couldn't defend himself against the two giants who handled him physically.

The first time it had happened, they'd come in on him, as usual, only this time, instead of cowering away, he lunged forward, trying desperately to take them on, latching to one of their arms and attempting to push, then pull, all for naught. The man didn't budge, and a moment later, the other had grabbed hold of The Joker and pulled him away with ease, taking vicious hold of his arms and locking them behind his back, giving the first guard complete clearance to attack as he desired.

And he did, pummeling their captive with bare fists, punching him repeatedly in the face and then to the body before finishing him off with a shot to the solar plexus, after which he was let go to fall fast to his knees, and then on to his face, writhing about the floor in agony.

It was painful to watch, and Batman couldn't help the absolute feelings of disgust and loathing which crept up in him.

This was a _boy_ they were abusing, a practical _child_. This wasn't the mass-murdering lunatic he knew. This was someone else entirely. And he felt his stomach lurch inside of him at the sight of what they were doing.

And he thought maybe he better understood now what had happened to The Joker, what had caused him to be as he was.

It wasn't an excuse… just… understanding.

And as though correlating with his thoughts, he came upon the footage marking The Joker's sixth month of continuous torture at the hands of this lunatic doctor, and Bruce could see it. See the sudden and drastic shift in his demeanor. Like night and day, it was clear to the eye. At least, to him.

The Joker had _changed_, as he'd been noted to do since first appearing in Gotham as he was. He traded personalities. Whenever he went through some extreme circumstance, or sometimes for no apparent reason at all, his entire person would change, his desires, his motives, his disposition. Sometimes it would change to more violent, sometimes it would change to that of a complete child, utterly harmless.

And Bruce could see it happening here, for the first time perhaps. He wasn't the same anymore. And he could tell, undoubtedly, he'd changed to a more hardened persona. Without warning or any sort of hint. He just had. Like that. First demonstrated when, after again failing to cooperate, the two men began to beat him. Only this time, he didn't scream, he didn't cry or beg for their mercy. This time, he made no sound at all. Just laid there, taking it, his face expressionless.

Though taken aback, no one in the room thought much of it. At least, not until the next session, when The Joker had managed somehow to disassemble a small piece of machinery and used it then to attack the right side of one of the guards faces.

He'd lunged at the man with, what was to them clearly, unexpected quickness, managing to push him to the ground, from their proceeding to straddle him before repeatedly, and with the viciousness Batman knew, bring the side of metal casing down in to cheek bone, then against his nose, and then his eye, over and over, until the man's face was a crimson mask and he was screaming bloody murder.

The other guard had managed to get him off then, while the doctor coward in the corner. But from then on, they always kept him in restraints, except for when conducting their experiments.

As the months proceeded, the boy in the footage began more and more to resemble the man the vigilante knew, with the only significant difference being, beyond the physical, he didn't laugh. He had no humor about the whole thing, at all.

But, gradually, the fear he'd been so clearly consumed by early on began to disappear. He began to talk back to the doctor and the two men, attacking them with cutting insults, delivered with the same confidence and conviction that he displayed to this day. It unnerved the three individuals visibly as he would tell them things about themselves no one should have known.

But still, it never kept them from their abuse.

He began to tell the doctor that he was going to escape, and that the doctor would be sorry when he did.

They laughed at him.

They shouldn't have.

At some point, probably while living on the street, the boy that would become The Joker had already come to learn slight of hand, apparently, because when Batman finally came to the final tape in the collection, it became clear all too quickly why it was the last.

It began like all the other sessions, with the doctor striding in, flanked by the two men, approaching the boy on the floor, with his hands bound behind him.

But it fast changed.

When they were within striking range, The Joker lunged forward, totally unexpectedly, his hands free, and with the speed Batman had come to know well, he'd wrapped his hand behind the neck of man closest to him, pulling his head forward, and with his other he produced a ball point pen, one Batman assumed he must have lifted from the doctor at some previous point, but had been simply too afraid and too unsure of himself to do earlier, and stabbed the thing with all the viciousness in the world in to the side of the guards neck, before ripping it out and repeating the action, over and over.

He must have stabbed him ten times in half as many seconds, grunting with each penetration, his eyes huge with fury and determination.

And then The Joker released him, and the man fell to the floor, gurgling and chocking. Dying.

And as quickly as you could blink, he was on the other guard, before he or the doctor had time to react to what was happening, grabbing the back of his head, sinking the pen hard in to his eye.

The man fell to the ground, screaming in agony, his hands coming over his face as he writhed about.

The doctor's face had by then contorted in pure horror and he began to back away, nearly stumbling and losing his balance.

"S-stay away from me! Stay away!" His voice shook almost uncontrollably.

But The Joker ignored him, continuing forward.

"STAY BACK!" The doctor screamed one last time before he was attacked, brought to the floor where The Joker straddled him, wrapping his hands around the man's throat, beginning to chock him.

The doctor flailed violently, trying to pry the hands away, to throw the boy off him. But it was futile as The Joker bore down, his teeth gritting in concentration.

He put everything he had in to strangling the breath from his tormentors lungs, .breath, until the doctor no longer moved.

Until he'd gone _utterly_ still.

Batman watched in morbid fascination and shock then as The Joker stood slowly, his arms hanging limply at his side, his head bowed, starring at the man he'd just killed.

Bruce half expected him to start laughing, to realize the pleasure the act had brought him.

But instead he began to back away, almost stumble backward, looking dazed, confused. And then, abruptly, he collapsed, on to his knees, his hands held limply between his legs. And his face just… _broke_, twisted in to the mask of tragedy almost as his mouth turned down sharply in to a frown, his brows knotting together, his forehead creasing in agony.

And he began to sob, quietly, almost mewing, his entire body shuttering with each breath.

Bruce just gapped, wide eyed, stunned. And his heart twisted suddenly in pain at what he saw, in complete sadness. Not for the dead and dying men, but for the boy, for The Joker… For Anthony, Anthony, _Anthony_.

And The Joker just stayed that way, not moving, quietly crying, until finally the tape ran out, and the screen went black.

**

_Authors note:_

_So, big development I guess, lol. I felt inspired and since I haven't been updating weekly as usual, I thought I'd post this chapter now. I hope you guys enjoyed it. Just so you know, if they EVER gave The Joker a real background story in the comics, I'd be way pissed, lol. But, this is fanfiction, and we're supposed to do things you wouldn't normally see in canon, lol. I came up with this because it's getting old seeing the tired cliché of The Joker being abused by his parents. I thought this might be an interesting twist, and also thought it was a good way to incorporate the theory of "super-sanity" in to the mix. I'd imagine that's something The Joker always had, even before he went nutso, lol. _

_A note about my other story "Trust". I'm going to finish it, but have decided to put it on hold until I finish this one so that the quality of either doesn't suffer. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thanks so much to all my readers and reviewers. I appreciate all of you taking the time to read and give feedback._


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15:**

He starred down at the slowly fading bruises running up along the left side of his bare torso. He pressed his fingers against them, inflaming the sourness, and he smiled.

It hadn't taken long for his broken bones to heal. Though in that time he'd grown extremely restless. He hated simply sitting around when there _always_ wasfun to be had. It frustrated him to no end.

He'd made it to the lower east side, all on foot, which had taken hours, and holed up in one of an array of abandoned shipping factories which littered the area.

The entire situation hadn't been amusing in the least.

He'd taken well enough care of himself. After getting that doctor in to set his ribs and sending him off again, he basically been by himself, venturing out in the very early mornings to steal food from where he could.

The only contact he'd had with anyone in the last month had been when he'd gotten in touch with a man named Groucho, a guy he'd used in the past for running errands. He'd had him bring him a collection of suits which he'd left in one of his hideouts, clear on the other side of town. But that was it.

He'd told Groucho to let him know if he heard word of Batman, but there'd been nothing, which left The Joker confused. He had expected the buffoon to be in search of him, but apparently, no one had even _seen_ the Bat in the last, several weeks.

He'd seen in the papers that Sharpie had been removed as the asylums Warden, along with his little lackey Stevenson, and currently charges were pending.

Sharp had been vocal in the media, rambling on about what an outrage this all was.

"_I feel sorry for whoever is so foolhardy that they would take the word of a raving lunatic over my own. The Joker is an incredibly unstable individual, who suffers from delusions of grandeur and extreme states of paranoia and hallucination. Not to mention, he is a proven liar. He murdered, in cold blood, two of my best men! Blinded another! These absurd allegations are entirely false and I trust that my unequivocal innocence will be proven in a court of law._"

The Joker had rolled his eyes at that. So Bat-fat had been right about that, but he couldn't have cared less. Even if charged, which was itself doubtful, there was no possibility of any conviction being handed down. And the Warden's removal meant nothing to him.

What The Joker truly was mad about was, it had been broadcast to the _world_ what he'd endured. They'd even gone so far as to reprint the photographs of his bruised and battered body, the ones Bats had taken, and show them on their nightly news broadcasts. So now _everyone _knew.

He'd gone on a literal tear after finding out, tearing the place apart, breaking in to pieces whatever he could find. He'd wanted with vicious desire to kill somebody. But that would have drawn attention, and jeopardized his chance for revenge.

And now there really was no other option. He _had _to kill Sharpie and the guard, and he had to do it in a way no one would soon forget. A show had to be made of it.

Anyone who now thought The Joker could be toyed with because of all this would fast understand that _wasn't_ so.

This was entirely Batman's fault, he thought. If he had just let him _be_, he could have taken care of the problem himself, and nobody would ever know a god damned thing!

Well, now was the time. He would move out tomorrow night and pay the Warden a visit, long overdue.

**

He'd informed Alfred a month before that they'd be heading to DC, and the butler hadn't hesitated to question why.

Bruce had told him he was looking for more detailed information on a case, but failed to go in to details.

Alfred had given him an incredulous look and asked, though it could have been taken as more of a statement from his tone, whether this had anything to do with The Joker. The crusader had lied, telling him no. He felt bad about it. But for reasons he didn't really understand, he didn't want the older man to know about what he'd found, nor about what he was feeling.

Alfred knew he was hiding something. Bruce knew that, even pressing the vigilante about leaving town while The Joker was on the loose. But he felt strange about the whole thing and he found he just couldn't bring himself to divulge what he'd learned. It was absurd. He trusted Alfred with his life, but to him, what he'd viewed seemed somehow privileged, like no one else should have been allowed to see it, like anyone else knowing was _wrong_.

So now they were here, in Washington, and Batman found himself in disguise, sporting a prosthetic nose and goatee, walking the streets, asking any and everyone who might have known if they remembered a boy named Anthony, showing them a screen cap he'd taken from the tapes.

In the two weeks since they arrived, he'd found nothing. No one seemed to know anything, no one recognized the boy in the picture. And Bruce had been about ready to give up, to tell Alfred they'd be heading home the next day when, half heartedly, he came up on a black man, maybe in his mid forties, from the looks of him, and held the photograph up to his face.

"You know Anthony?" He asked, fully expecting the same reply he'd heard two dozen times already, that they'd never seen the guy.

But the man starred at the picture hard, then abruptly took it from Bruce's hand and looked closer.

"Yeah, Anthony, I know him." He said. "Ain't seen him for years though." He handed the photo back to Bruce. "Figure he must be dead by now or somethin'."

To say he was shocked was an understatement. And he just starred at the man in disbelief for a moment.

"Who's askin'?" The man finally asked.

"A friend." Bruce replied, and he was surprised by his own answer. "From a long time ago."

"How long we talkin' bro? Cause I've been knowin' Anthony since he was just a kid man. Lot younger then in this picture even."

"I knew him from the orphanage." Bruce lied smoothly. "Back in Gotham."

"Oh, for real!?" The man seemed suddenly excited. "Gotham!? Man, Anthony was always talkin' 'bout that place, and the orphanage. Talkin' 'bout friends he missed and shit."

Bruce nodded.

"Wooee, this is like some serious blast from the past man! I ain't even thought a' that kid in the longest time."

"How long did you know him for?" Bruce asked.

The man pushed his cap back on his head.

"I'd say 'bout 5 years maybe. First met him… gotta be over twenty years ago now. Say, listen, you wanna go get a cup a coffee or somethin' and we can talk about this?"

"Sure." Bruce nodded. "I'd like that."

It didn't take them long to find a local coffee shop and the two of them stole off to a quiet corner in the back to talk about the boy in the photo.

"Anthony man, he was a funny kid." The man, who told Bruce his name was Timothy, began. "I was runnin' with a pretty rough crew back then." He laughed. "At least, that's what I thought. Bunch a' hooligans, really. We weren't really violent or nothin', just rough a tumble. Anyway, long story short, our regular hang out was, well, right 'round this area. But you gotta understand, twenty years ago it wasn't nearly as up scale as you see it now. It was a pretty run down neighborhood, 'for all the nice, white people moved in." He laughed. "Anyhow though, me and my crew, this one day, we were just hangin' out on the street. Don't tell nobody this…" He leaned in close to Bruce, lowering his voice to a whisper and chuckling. "But we used to case places, you know, in the more upscale neighborhoods, and we was gettin' a plan together that day to hit this place we'd been lookin' at. So after that, as I remember, we were just kickin' around, not doin' much of anything. Billy was messin' about. Billy's my best bud, 'till this day even. He's a real clown, that guy."

This caught Bruce's attention and he leaned closer, nodding.

"So anyway, he was messin' about, runnin' in and out of these ally-ways, scarrin' the bums that would sleep in the dumpsters and shit. He'd open those things up and start screamin' like hell, and these homeless guys would just freak the hell out man." He laughed. "So about the fifth or sixth ally he runs in to, we're watchin' him at the opening, he goes up to this dumpster, opens it up, then closes it, yellin' to us that no one's in there. And as he's comin' back to us, he's kickin' up trash lined against the building sides, and he hits this one trash heap which suddenly, like, _screams out_! Man, we all about jumped a foot in the air!" He laughed again. "We weren't expectin' it, ya know? Anyway, all of a sudden, this trash pile starts movin' and a guy sort of crawls out from under the junk. And at first I thought, what the hell, it's a dirty midget! But then we see it's this little kid and man, he was lookin' jacked up man. Totally filthy, like he hadn't had a bath in months or somethin'. And scared. His eyes were wide as saucers, looking out from behind this dirt covered face. So Billy, you know, he used to be pretty mean, he walks over to this kid and like, grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and lifts him up and just stares at em'. 'Well, well, what do we got here?' he says.

And this kid, he's lookin' real bad, ya know. Really small kid, scrawny as hell. Lookin' back, I can understand why he was so scared a' us, ya know. Bunch of 18 and 19 year old's, big kids, mean lookin'. And he couldn't a' been more then 10, maybe 11 years old. And small for that age even! And he ain't sayin' nothin'. Just starrin' back at Billy, eyes huge. Finally I step in…"

"_Hey Billy, it's just a kid man."_

"_Yeah Tim, I know." The older boy laughed. "What's yer name kid?"_

_If they could have seen the boy's face underneath the dirt, they would have seen it had drained of color._

"_Y-you're not here to kill me, are you?" He squeaked out._

_The group of boys all laughed loudly._

"_Naw kid. You look like you been hurtin' enough already." Billy chuckled. "So what's yer name?"_

"_A-Anthony." The boy answered, his voice shaking._

"_A-Anthony?! What kinda name is that?!" Billy laughed._

_Anthony didn't say anything in response, only looked confused. He didn't understand the joke._

"_Hey kid, what are you doin' out here by yourself? Ain't you got a home?" Tim jumped in._

_Anthony shook his head._

"_You mean you're homeless?!" Another of the boys, John, asked in surprise._

_Again the boy remained silent._

"_That's messed up man. Maybe we should call the police or somethin'." _

"_NO!" Anthony suddenly shouted. "No, please, don't… don't call them. They'll find me if you do."_

_They all looked taken aback._

"_Who'll find you kid?" Billy asked, finally setting him back on the ground. _

_He starred up at them with pleading eyes. Then shook his head._

"_Listen, Anthony? Do you have parents? Anyone you can call?"_

_Again he shook his head._

"_My parent's died." He said, dryly, matter of fact._

"_Really?" Tim cut in, the sound of shock in his voice._

_Suddenly Billy's demeanor softened and he bent down so that he could look Anthony in the eye._

"_When was that little guy?" He asked, his tone much friendlier now. _

_Again he shook his head._

"_A… a long time ago." He stuttered._

"_What happened?" John asked dumbly. The rest of the group looked at him with disapproval._

"_They died in a car crash…" His voice softened to almost a whisper and he looked away then, his eyes shifting, unfocused to the brick wall beside them._

"_And you've got no one? No grandparent's or relatives to take you in?"_

_Anthony shook his head._

"_No friends?"_

_Another shake no._

"_I think we should call the police man." Tim again suggested._

"_NO!" Anthony began to back up then. "Please…" He voice suddenly broke, wavered, and then he was crying, tears streaming freely down his face. "They'll find me…" He finally said, his voice barely audible. _

"_No." Billy straightened, looking back to the other boys. "I don't know what the kid's talkin' about, but he sound's scared genuine. And since when have we ever gotten along with the pigs? We ain't exactly law abidin' citizens Tim!"_

"_I know that Billy! It's just… I mean, look at em!" He pointed at Anthony. "He's a fuckin' mess man. Kid looks like he's been livin' in a cave or some shit."_

"_Yeah!?" Billy questioned, as though the observation were meaningless. "And that's why I say we take him in."_

"_Take him in!? Billy, he's a __kid__! How we supposed to take care of a kid, huh?!"_

"_Easy. We just take care of em' is all. Like we do each other."_

_Tim shook his head in disbelief. Billy was the leader. Whatever he said, that was what would go. But this just seemed unnecessary and reckless._

"_Why?" He finally asked. "What good's a kid gonna do us? He'll just get in the way man."_

"_Because dude, I __like __him!" Billy explained, as though it were the most perfect excuse. "We'll teach him the trade, put him to work. Everyone likes little kids, right? Everyone trusts em'. He'll be able to hustle for us."_

"_Man Billy, I don't know…" John chimed in. "I think it's a bad idea."_

"_And I don't care what you think." Billy shot back, then sighed. "Listen, if the kid's trouble, we'll cut him loose, okay?"_

_The other boys just looked at him._

"_What do you say Anthony? You want to be part of our gang?" Billy turned towards the boy, starring down at him._

"_Do I have a choice?" Anthony asked, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand._

_Billy laughed._

"_Smart kid. See?" He looked back at Tim and John, then back to Anthony._

"_Course you do. You don't gotta hang with us. But you'll be a lot better off if you join our crew kid. Right now, you're lookin' like you could use some help."_

"Anthony knew Billy was right." Timothy sipped his coffee. "And he came with us after that."

Bruce waited as the man went silent, stirring his spoon in the black liquid. He was thinking and suddenly he laughed, shaking his head.

"We had some good times with that kid man." He chuckled, then at once looked contemplative again. "He was a real _unusual_ kid. Know what I mean? _Really_ smart. Kinda' shy. And just a realsweetheart. Nicest kid I ever knew. Wouldn't hurt nothin'."

Bruce's brows rose at this.

"Really?" He asked, trying to conceal the shock from his voice.

Timothy nodded.

"Yeah man. Like I said, we were a pretty rough group. We cased joins, robbed em', hustled people out a their money, picked pockets. Few times we even did some dime store hold ups. No one ever got shot or nothin', but it was still ugly, ya know." Timothy shook his head. "Dumb." He said.

Bruce nodded.

"Anyway, little Anthony, we started callin' him little Anthony, on account of him bein' so skinny, he refused to have anything to do with it. Wouldn't even pick pockets, ya know? We all thought this was a problem, ya know. Cause if he wasn't contributin' to the group, but we was still takin' care of him, you know, that was a problem. But we all liked the kid too.

So one day, we was all sittin' around on the front stoop of some apartment building, and Billy had this pack a' cards. He was a magician, ya know, did all kinds a' tricks. He was just shufflin' them, and Anthony was starrin' at him hard. Suddenly he asks if he can try."

_They all laughed._

"_You wanna try kid?" Billy asked, amused. "Okay." He handed the deck to Anthony._

_They all were taken aback when he began to cut them then, nearly as well as Billy himself._

"_Wow kid, wow!" Billy stopped him. "Where'd you learn to do that?"_

"_Watching you." Anthony responds. _

"_Really?" Billy questioned in disbelief._

_Anthony nodded._

_He was telling the truth. _

_He'd always been good picking up on what others did. _

_He could learn just by watching._

"Anthony loved it, ya know. The magic stuff. Loved to perform. He always felt bad about bein' a burden, about not bringin' any money in to the group. So he suggested that maybe he could do magic shows on the street, make some dough that way. We all thought it was a good idea and so Billy started teachin' him everything he knew after that. Man…" Timothy shook his head. "In less then a _year_ that kid was doin' everything Billy taught him _better _then Billy had ever been. Shoot, he was makin' new shit up, new tricks, doin' all kinds a wild things with cards and handkerchiefs and lighters." He laughed. "He was a total pro is less then a year, I'm tellin' ya."

Bruce smiled, nodding, his mind going back to the magic show The Joker had put on for him back in the cave. At least now he knew where he'd gotten the skill, and he knew he'd been right about him having to learn it as a boy.

Timothy went on.

"So he started doin' shows. He'd set up on street corners, in our neighborhood, then he started expanding. Going all around town. And he started pullin' in a _lot _of cash. A _lot_. He was just _really_ good at it, ya know. Complete natural, _very _charismatic. Just drew people in. Yeah man, we all knew little Anthony was gonna grow up to be some world famous magician then." He laughed, but the sound quickly faded away and the man at once looked sad.

"Billy got more and more protective of the kid." He went on. "Started seein' him like he was his little brother or somethin'. We all knew Anthony probably couldn't take care of himself, not really. He was this tiny little thing, too sweet for his own good. And there were a lot of _mean_ mother fuckers walkin' around town. Guy's who'd think nothin' of hurtin' a little kid like that. Guy's who'd take _pleasure_ in it. Ya know?"

Bruce nodded. He knew. He knew all too well. He frowned at the irony.

The Joker was just that kind of man.

"So we was always nervous, lettin' the kid go out on his own. But he insisted. He knew if people saw us hangin' around him, they'd be a lot less likely to watch his show. They'd be put off and think he was pullin' some kind of scam."

Bruce nodded.

"So we let him go. And nothing ever happed. Except…" He paused, looking down.

Bruce leaned closer, waiting.

"Except when it did. We were walkin' together down Bank Street, where we knew he was. We thought that day we'd just go to watch his show, like we were just spectators. When we saw the rival gang, and the group of onlookers, saw they were beating someone up, we knew. We knew it was Anthony…" Again he paused. "Billy went runnin' for them, fast as I've ever seen him take off, and we weren't far behind then. When we reached em', they had Anthony down on the ground, three of em', and they were beatin' the dog shit out of him man. Kickin' him and hittin' him and nobody was doin' nothin'. This little kid man." Timothy shook his head.

"It's horrible." Bruce says in agreement.

Timothy nods.

"And Billy just went ballistic man, throwin' the first guy off, then the next. And then we joined in. The four of us just killed these guys man. Gave em' a worse beatin' then we'd ever given anyone. Told em' if they _ever _came back that we'd kill em', and we meant it."

Timothy fell silent then, looking past Bruce, at the wall behind them.

"They deserved it man." He says. "They deserved it, for what they did to Anthony."

The man went silent for a long moment then, just starring down at his coffee. Bruce didn't make any attempts to talk.

"When we finally turned back to the kid, he was beat to hell man. His face all bloody, almost unrecognizable. Had a broken arm. And he just looked… _twisted_, ya know. I mean… he was just a _little kid_." Timothy shook his head. "Wasn't hurtin' no one."

"I know." Bruce said.

The man shrugged.

"Took him months to heal. But once he did, he insisted on going back out there. None of us wanted him to. But he wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Did anything ever happen again?" Bruce asked.

Timothy shook his head.

"Naw. We kept an eye on him mostly after that. Send one of the boys to watch his show from a distance, follow him around, ya know. A few times some guys from rival gangs would show up, intendin' to rough Anthony up, but then whoever we sent would step in and they'd run off. Bunch of cowards. Never were willin' to get in to a tussle with anyone who could actually _defend _themselves, ya know."

"So what happened? How did you lose touch with Anthony?"

Timothy shrugged.

"He disappeared one day. Just like a lot of kids out here. They _disappear_." He looked up at Bruce with a knowing glance, and Bruce knew exactly what he meant. "Once he'd gotten in to his teens, 14, 15, we figured it was safe to let him go out on his own again. So one day he goes out and he just never comes back." He shook his head. "Never heard from him again, never heard any word of him. He just _vanished_. After a week of lookin', we all just assumed the worst."

Bruce nodded.

"You think he was killed?"

"Killed, maybe tortured or molested first. You name it. A lot of bad things happen to kids out here man. We figured maybe the same group from a few years before got him finally. Or maybe he was picked up by some psycho. You just don't know. But he was gone and he's been gone ever since."

Again Bruce nodded.

"Well, Mr…?"

"Bradshaw."

"Mr. Bradshaw." He stood, sticking out his hand. "You've been a great help and I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate your time."

"Not a problem brother." Timothy took his hand and shook it. "Thanks for the coffee."

Bruce just smiled, giving a nod before stepping around the table and heading towards the shops exit.

"Hey!" He was stopped by the man shouting after him. He turned around.

"You think Anthony's still alive man?" The man asks, hope in his voice.

"I don't know." Bruce answers. "I hope so."

"Well if he is, and you find him, tell him Tim from DC still thinks of him a lot. You tell him…" He pauses. "You tell him he's still got a friend in me and that I hope… I hope we see each other again real soon."

Bruce smiles, but it's forced, it's fake. Because he knows the request is for naught. He knows the man won't ever see Anthony again, because he knows already Anthony isn't there anymore.

He knows Anthony's long since been dead.

"I'll do that Timothy." He says, still smiling. "Thanks so much again."

**

The Joker stood beneath a cluster of trees across the street from a large, suburban home. The sun had since set and his form was covered by the heavy shadows cast by the canopy.

No one can see him.

But he can see them.

Two guards stationed outside the front door of the home, looking stern and alert. He knows they're for him.

Inside the home, past the large, glass windows, the curtains are drawn and he can see a little girl skipping about the living area. She's smiling and excited and a moment later a man comes in to view, chasing after her, also smiling.

The man is Quincy Sharp.

The Joker frowns.

"Your expulsion from Arkham doesn't seem to have fazed you dear, doctor Sharp." He whispered low to himself. "Confident you'll soon be back?" He smirked suddenly, his mind at once alight with thoughts of torture.

He'd show this man _ways_ to torture. Ways his wildest imaginings could never have come up with. The Warden would understand, soon enough, those methods most effective when ones goal is to _break_ a man.

The Joker would _show_ him personally.

He felt his hands turning to fists, his teeth clenching tight, and as suddenly as the rage had come, it vanished, and he smiled wide, his muscles relaxing.

"Pretty little girl…" His spoke aloud, quietly, moving from the trees. "Such a pretty…little...girl."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16:**

He's making his way across the street, diagonally, not a straight line, his broad brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes, but still he walks like he's got nothing to hide.

The two men on the porch are watching him now, and he's watching them. They didn't see him come from the trees and when he makes it to the sidewalk he begins down it, towards the house.

He could have shot them from where he stood. He's an _extremely_ good shot. Something a lot of people don't seem to know about him, for some reason or another. But he doesn't have a silencer and the noise would ruin everything.

The guards are sporting rifles, held at their sides, ready for action.

He won't give them a chance to use them.

He begins past the front stoop like he's going to keep walking, the men watching him closely, but it's dark, the street lights here dim, and they can't make out who he is.

And abruptly he stops, turning to them, his mouth stretched back in to a grin so wide it shouldn't be natural.

"Evening gentlemen!" He says with enthusiasm.

He sees their eyes go wide and the split second of hesitation as their minds register just who it is they're looking at. He takes the moment to produce a knife in each hand, switch blades he keeps up his sleeves, snapping them open and throwing them, first one, he turns, then the other, in the direction of the men's throats.

The blades slice through their wind pipes and jugular like butter and they collapse to the ground within a fraction of a second of each other, gurgling and spitting up blood.

The Joker bounds quietly up the steps and kneels down between them.

"I'm also an expert knife thrower." He says, recalling his thoughts from minutes before about his excellent marksmanship, as though he'd been telling the two guards about it, not thinking it to himself. "But no one seems to know that either." He finishes with a sigh.

Within seconds they've bled out and he pats their cheeks in an affectionate manner.

"Well, nice knowing you boys." The Joker says, standing straight, making sure to take up the switchblades jutting from out their necks.

He's on limited resource right now.

As he's wiping the blades against his jacket, cleaning them of blood, the door in front of him suddenly opens.

"What's going on out…"

He sees Warden Sharp standing in the entryway, his hand rested on the inside knob, and his face drains of color so quickly that if The Joker hadn't of been looking at him the moment it happened, he would have missed it. His eyes are wide as saucers, his pupils expanding.

"Y-y-you…" He stutters, his voice shaking uncontrollably.

The Joker smiles down at him.

"That right sweetheart." He says, placing the knives back to his inside coat pocket. "Me."

Before the older man has even a chance to react The Joker's placed his large, gloved hand against his face and pushed him back in to the house, so hard he falls to the floor. And then The Joker grabs the two dead guards by their hair and drags them in behind him, turning to quickly pick up their rifles before slamming the door shut and locking it.

When he turns back, the Warden is splayed across the carpet, looking up at him, his eyes huge with fear.

He starts towards him.

"Honey, what was th…" He looks up and there's a woman coming in to the living room from the kitchen, the same little girl he saw through the window following close behind.

She gasps loudly, immediately clutching the child against her back.

"Angie, get out of here!" Sharp screams at them. "Take Bella and get out!"

The woman stands frozen.

"Oh my God…" She breaths, her voice shaking, her hand reaching up to cover her mouth. "Quincy?" She says his name in confusion.

The Joker smiles.

"GET OUT! TAKE BELLA AND LEAVE!" The Warden screams more desperately.

"Oh, no, no, no." The Joker protests, stepping towards them, both guns held in his hands. "The more the merrier, I always say."

"Stay away from them!" Sharp cries. "Don't touch them!"

The Joker ignores him, continuing towards the woman and child, stopping less then a foot away, invading their personal space. He bends down close.

"Such a lovely wife." He says lazily as the woman cringes away, pressing their daughter closer against her leg. "And a beautiful little girl."

"You stay away from her!" The Warden again screams.

The Joker turns then to face him.

"I suggest you lower that voice of yours Sharpie." He says, cocking the rifle in his direction, his mouth twisting suddenly to a pronounced frown. "Wouldn't want the neighbors knowing of our little get together, now would we?"

"You sick fu…"

"Ladies!" The Joker turns back towards them. "If you'll have a seat?" He gestures towards the couch, placed at the room's center.

The woman stares for a moment, not moving, the girls face buried against her leg. The Joker nods towards the couch, the smile again back on his lips.

"Come on sweetie." She says softly to the girl, finally beginning towards the couch, slowly.

The Joker lets them past, watching them with a look of approval.

"You too Sharpie!" He says once they've reached their destination, looking down at the Warden and gesturing for him to stand. "Take a seat."

The older man struggles to his feet, never taking his eyes from the tall, thin figure before him, backing towards the couch.

The Joker looks down at the guns in his hands, lifting them slightly as though checking their weight. Then he snaps open the barrel on one and holds it back so the two bullets slide in to his palm. He pockets them and does the same to the other before turning away from the family, walking to the far corner of the room and leaning the two weapons against the wall there, butts up, barrels down.

He then reaches his hand to his head, removing the broad brimmed, purple hat, revealing a full head of lush, green hair, styled in to a pompadour, slightly disheveled from the accessory.

He turns back to them, and they're all watching him, dread plastered across their faces. He begins to remove the body length trench coat from his shoulders, exposing a well tailored suit underneath, cut to fit the line of his tall, thin physic perfectly. Its expensive looking, deep purple, the jacket unbuttoned, showing an equally well fit, canary yellow waist coat over an orange dress shirt and green bow tie.

He's dressed to impress, if circus, clown colors are your thing.

He throws the coat over the back of a nearby chair, setting the hat down on its seat before making his way towards the couch.

Sharp and his wife are holding each other now, the woman's hand wrapped tight around their daughters shoulder, pulling her in close.

The Joker stops in front of the girl and squats down so that he's eye level with her, supporting his weight on the balls of his feet, his forearms rested atop his knees.

"Hello there." He says, his voice soft and friendly.

"Don't you talk to her!" Sharp hisses.

The Joker looks at him and his expression is one of deep displeasure.

The Warden's mouth closes and he doesn't say anything when The Joker turns his attention back to his daughter.

"Bella, is it?" He again addresses her, the same, sweet voice.

She doesn't answer him, looking half his way, the other half of her face buried against her mothers arm.

It doesn't seem to deter The Joker as he keeps on.

"You're very pretty." He says. "But I'll bet you hear that a lot."

He studies her for a long minute, saying nothing, and finally she pulls her face away from her mother and looks at him fully.

He smiles.

"My Daddy says you're a bad man." She says.

"Does he now?!" The Joker asks in mock astonishment.

The little girl nods.

"And he says if I see you I should run away as fast as I can." She adds, matter of factly.

"My, my!" The Joker says. "It seems your father hasn't painted of me the most flattering picture." He looks to Warden Sharp. "That's a shame." His voice goes lower, his smile widening. "Because I'm really a _very_ nice person."

Sharp swallows hard. He can feel his fingertips going numb with fear now.

The Joker turns back to Bella.

"You know honey..." He begins. "what's good and what's bad is very much a subjective thing. Everyone makes their own determination of what they consider such. And usually… _usually_… it's those who point their fingers strongest who themselves are guilty of what they proclaim evil. You've heard the term 'Though doth protest too much!'?"

The girl doesn't answer.

The Joker continues.

"It means that when one rails against something with what seems_ excessive_ vigor, they cast themselves in a suspicious light, and so cause others to consider that they may be guilty of what they supposedly so strongly oppose."

He turns his head towards Sharp.

"And, I'm afraid, the term applies well to your father." He turns back to her, reaching out and cupping her face between his hands.

"Take your hands off of her!" Sharp protests suddenly.

The Joker ignores him.

"Would you like to know a secret?" He says to her in nearly a whisper. "A secret _no ones_ supposed to know? A secret no one wants to _believe_?"

She stares at him silently.

"Well here it is. Your father is as bad a man as I am, if you consider _hurting _people to _be_ a bad thing."

The girl looks confused. The woman and Warden are watching him in terror.

"I'm sure your parents have kept you from the news. But certainly you've noticed your Daddy's home more often then usual lately?"

She stares at him wide, than nods.

He smiles.

"Well darling, the _reason_ is because Daddy was _hurting_ a patient whose care he was charged with. Your Daddy is a doctor sweety. And doctors are supposed to _cure _people, not hurt them. So now he's in trouble with his boss. Did you know that?"

Slowly she shakes her head.

He nods.

"Yes. And do you know who that patient was?"

"You son of a bitch!" Sharp shouts, nearly rising from his seat, his wife pulling him back down.

The girl shakes her head again and The Joker presses a hand against his chest.

"Me." He says. "I'm that patient."

"Are you sick?" The girl asks innocently.

The Joker laughs softly.

"Some say so." He answers. "But I'd disagree." He smiles. "I think, more, I'm just misunderstood. A lot of the time, when you're not like them, people call you all sorts of mean names. Has anyone ever called you a mean name?"

She nods.

He nods in return.

"I've been called mean names all my life. Your father called me a mean name just a moment ago. But you know what? When people do that, it's usually because they're scared of you. People are afraid of what they don't understand. Remember that, so next time you get called a mean name, you'll know it's only because they're scared of you, and you don't have to feel bad about it."

The girl is starring at him in wonderment now and he smiles warmly at her.

"Daddy hurt you?" She asks.

"I did NOT!" Sharp's voice rises. "Honey, sweetheart, _don't_ listen to him! He's a lying, manipulative _psychopath_"

The Joker nods, never taking his eyes from Bella.

"Remember what I said dear? About denying something so strongly that it makes it seem like maybe it's true?"

She nods.

"BELLA?!" Sharp's voice cracks with the strain he puts on it. "_Stop_ listening to him! He's LYING. He's a lying _bastard_!"

"And what did I just say about people calling you _mean_ names?" He throws a glance at Sharp for a moment before bringing his eyes back to her.

"That…" She begins. "That it's cause they're scared of you?"

Again he nods.

"That's right."

"I'll kill you! You sick son of a bitch!" The Warden is screaming now. "I'll fucking kill you!"

The girl looks to him then.

"Why'd you hurt him Daddy?" She asks.

Sharps face turns red with anger.

"I DIDN'T! For _Christ's sake_ Bella, what the hell is wrong with you!? Why are you _listening_ to this lunatic!? He's a God damned psychopath! He's completely _insane_!"

"See?" The Joker says to her. "He denies it so strongly and then calls me names. But there's evidence he hurt me. See Bella? There's evidence." He reaches to the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded up newspaper clipping. Pulling it open he hands it to her, and there are pictures printed on the paper, color pictures of his bruised and battered, malnourished body.

The girl stares at the images wide eyed, her expression one of fear and confusion. She looks up to The Joker, who keeps his eyes locked directly on her, his face completely serious, then to her father, then back to The Joker again, and once more to the pictures.

Suddenly her face crumples and tears begin to slide down her cheeks.

"D-daddy?" She sobs in understanding. "Y-you hurt him Daddy? Why'd you hurt him? Why'd you hurt him so bad?"

The Warden rises suddenly from his seat, ripping the paper from his daughter's hands.

"I did NOTHING the son of a bitch didn't DESERVE!" He screams, tearing the paper to shreds in his hands. "NOTHING!

"Quincy?" His wife looks up at him, her expression one of astonishment.

"He's a _monster_!" Sharp yells at her. "You don't _understand_! He… He made a _fool_ of me! He made me look incompetent! I couldn't… I couldn't let him get away with that! I couldn't let him laugh at me!"

"Quincy, my God! It's true?!" His wife is covering her mouth with her hand as their daughters sobs grow louder.

The Joker rises from his crouch.

"Of _course_ it's true!" He says, rolling his eyes. Than looking at the Warden he adds with a smirk, "Hypocrisy at it's finest."

"_FUCK _YOU!" Sharp screams, suddenly lunging at him.

Bad idea.

The Joker takes a step back, back handing the Warden hard across the face the moment he stumbles in to range, knocking the older man backwards.

A moment later and he's on Sharp, grabbing hold of what little hair he has left on his head, taking his forearm in the other hand and driving him face forward in to the coffee table.

The Warden falls backward, his nose exploded with blood, only half-conscious now as he mumbles incoherently, making pained sounds.

His wife and daughter immediately begin to scream.

The Joker bends down, grabbing Sharp by the shirt and lifting him from the floor.

"Poor dear." He says. "Did I hurt you? Oh, but you were the instigator! You attacked me first. And so by your logic, you deserved it, no?"

He lifts the older man fully then, throwing him on to the couch.

His wife falls on him, wrapping her arms around his slumped shoulders.

"Oh God! Oh God, please… please stop…" She begs and the little girl is crying harder now.

The Joker doesn't respond, instead throwing his jacket back and sitting along the edge of the coffee table, directly in front of them, leaning his elbows on to his knees and resting his chin against his palms.

He looks like he's thinking.

The wife and daughter are both too scared to look at him.

"That's a shame." He says. "Just as we'd begun to establish a bound, old Sharpie here throws a wrench in the whole affair." He shakes his head. "A shame indeed."

"Please…" The woman begins again. "W-what do you want?"

The Joker shakes his head.

"No, no." He begins. "Don't interrupt."

"Bella, dear." He addresses the crying child. "Do you think Daddy deserved what just happened to him?"

She can't look at him now as she shakes her head against her mother's arm.

"No?" The Joker asks in mock surprise. "Even after seeing those dreadful pictures?"

Again she shakes her head and he knows she isn't listening, just responding negatively to the situation.

"That's funny. Because, apparently, Daddy thinks I deserved much worse simply for making him look foolish."

He shrugs then.

"That's okay though. I don't need validation."

Sharp is beginning to come around again and he groans in pain, brining his hand to his broken nose.

"W-what's…" He begins, his focus slowly coming back to him. When it finally does his eyes go wide when they set on The Joker.

"Oh, Jesus!" He gasps, pushing instinctively back.

The Joker eyes him hard for a second, his gaze mean, and the Warden looks suddenly away.

And then The Joker sighs, reaching to his inside pocket again, pulling from it a pack of cigarettes.

"You know…" He begins, pulling one from the pack with his teeth, finding a Zippo in another pocket and lighting it. He takes a long drag and then pulls the cigarette away, between two, long fingers, blowing the smoke in to Sharps face. "I'm as upset as you are." He says. "I'd have really preferred that no one to _know_ of our little sessions together." He pauses, taking another drag. "But, thanks to the _meddling_ of others in otherwise _private _affairs, I'm afraid the whole world's been made privy."

He stops, looking hard at the Warden.

"And, my dear, darling doctor, it must be said, the entire circumstance now bodes _unwell_ for you."

Again he blows smoke in to the older man's face.

"You'll never get away with this!" Sharp screams. "The police will come and…"

"Let them!" The Joker interrupts, anger suddenly apparent in his voice. He looks at the Warden intently, a faint smile on his lips as he waves the cigarette lazily in front of his face, taking another drag off it. "We'll see how long they last." He says, breathing through his nose, letting the smoke come out his nostrils.

"You're… you're nothing but a bully!" Sharp continues. "You act tough now, but when you're not the one in control, it's all different, isn't it? You're not so tough then!"

"No?!" The Joker asks, his eyebrows raised.

"No!" Sharp insists. "I saw you! Saw you when you finally broke! Blubbering like some lost child!"

The Joker's smile broadens, casting his eyes to the floor. He shrugs.

And then he begins to remove his suit jacket, tossing it to the floor, showing more thoroughly how long and lean his body really is.

"I suppose you're right." He says finally, looking up. "That _was_ rather shameful, wasn't it…? Let me ask you something Sharpie." He takes another drag. "Did you ever…" He looks down to the cuff of his sleeve and unbuttons it. "…bother to inform yourself of the circumstances surrounding the deaths of your two lackeys? What were their names again? Oh, yes! Roberts and Smith!" Slowly he begins to roll the sleeve up, all the way past his elbow, exposing the whole of a thin, stark white forearm. He brings his eyes back to the Warden then. "Or did you distance yourself from the incident as much as you were able?"

Sharp doesn't say anything, keeping his eyes locked on the madman.

"Because, dear doctor, if the former, then surely you would know Roberts was killed by way of punctured carotid artery, inflicted by a pen. And not just _any_ pen, Sharpie, no. _Your _pen. And _if_ the former, maybe, in that feeble mind of yours, you've made the connection that it was I who lifted the pen _from_ you. Now, in order for me to accomplish such a task, it was necessary I get close to you. And, as you know, with the situation you'd forced me in to, that was all but impossible, having your men do all the physical _man-handling_, as it were." He chuckled. "I had to get near you _somehow_. And I _assure_ you, the performance I gave was far more difficult a thing to endure then any form of physical torture you may have implemented upon me."

He leans forward then, closer to Sharp, his smile widening as he sees the realization come over the older man.

"You see Sharpie… I'm not really all that bothered… by pain." And suddenly he takes his cigarette between his thumb and index finger and presses the burning end against his forearm, grinding it against the skin until it goes out, the whole time never taking his eyes from the Warden, the smile never leaving his face.

The wife and daughter scream in horror as smoke peels off The Joker's arm and the smell of burning flesh fills the air. Sharp himself is frozen in terror, his eyes wide with shock and confusion.

And then The Joker laughs, tossing the now out cigarette to the floor. The burn is severe, already blistering and turning a mean shade of red and purple.

"Y… You're crazy…" Sharp finally manages, his voice weak.

"You say that as though surprised!" The Joker laughs more.

Sharp shakes his head.

"B-Batman will come! He'll find you and stop you like he always does!"

In a flash The Joker is standing, his face twisted in sudden rage, and he reaches out, taking hold of the Warden's shirt, pulling him forward and slapping his face hard, right to left, then shoving him roughly down again.

"YOU DO _NOT_ MENTION HIS NAME!" His voice rises for the first time since arriving. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND!? YOU ARE _NOT _PERMITTED. _NOT _ALLOWED!"

Sharp looks up at him in terror, grasping at his face where it still stings, his wife and daughter continuing to sob.

The Joker looks mad, his eyes huge and shinning and wild.

He stands over the older man for a moment, saying nothing, and then he again takes a seat upon the coffee table.

"You pray for him now, don't you?" He says, his voice abruptly soft again, quiet. "Speak well of him when you _need_ him." He looks at the Warden, his eyes cold. "But when you don't…" He looks away. "How disgustingly _hypocritica_l you are. You'd as soon have him locked in one of your _cells_, subject him to the same _treatments_ you did _me_!"

He looks up at him.

"You _don't_ speak his name again. You have _no_ _right_."

The next, several minutes pass in silence as The Joker suddenly places his head in his hands, his elbows rested against his knees and his eyes shut tight. He looks suddenly as though he's in pain, rocking subtly back and forth.

The Warden's eyes scan the room for weapons, resting on the two guns leant against the far left wall. They were emptied, but he still could use them.

He swallows hard, glancing back at The Joker, who seems completely oblivious, lost in his own mind.

He truly _is _mad, Sharp thinks in dismay.

And just as he feels he's built up the courage to dash for one of the guns, The Joker speaks.

"Go for it." He says.

"W-what?" The Warden asks, confused.

The Joker looks up.

"Go for it." He repeats. "You're looking at the guns. Go for it, if you think it'll help you."

Sharp stares at him in disbelief for a moment, not moving, and then he dashes, and The Joker lets him, watching as the older man stumbles across the room, shakily taking up a rifle. Seconds later and he's coming at The Joker with it, and The Joker stands, side stepping the first swing with ease. The next swing comes and The Joker ducks, coming up with an uppercut, sinking his fist squarely in to the Warden's solar plexus, dropping him instantly.

The Joker bends, taking the gun from his hands and tossing it angrily aside.

"Get up." He says, no amusement in his voice.

Sharp writhes on the ground, his face twisted in agony. He can't move.

"Up." The Joker says again, reaching down and taking Sharp by the collar of his shirt, dragging him back to the couch before pulling him to his feet and throwing him back down.

He looks hard at the Warden.

"Time to have some fun darling." He says, a smile spreading wide over his face.


	17. Chapter 17

**Authors Note:**

**So, just a little bit of a warning guys. This chapter includes some graphic scenes of violence and a non-consensual sexual situation. So definitely rated R. Just a heads up, and I promise, it'll only get worse, lol.**

**Chapter 17:**

Bruce had been able to get a few stories from differing areas of Gotham about the boy. One of which had left him utterly distraught.

A man, somewhere in his 50s, Bruce guessed, had been taking a cigarette break outside a restaurant he managed, and when he'd shown the man the photograph of Anthony, he instantly remembered him.

"Damn, that's strange." He'd said. Then he'd gone silent and Bruce waited patiently, looking at him with expectancy.

"You know…" The man continued. "I wouldn't recognize this kid, not with all the people in this city, 'cept for what happened to him."

"What happened?" Bruce asked, eager.

The man shook his head.

"I'd seen this kid around a lot, back when I was workin' as a dish washer in a real rat hole called "José's". You ever heard a' the place?"

Bruce shook his head.

Whatever the place, it wasn't there anymore and hadn't been for at least 15 years.

"Well, anyway, long story short, I seen this kid a lot. He was always wanderin' 'round, lookin' like a _mess_, if I remember right. Real skinny, dirty, looked like he didn't have no home. Few times I caught him diggin' through trash cans, lookin' for food. I felt bad 'cause he was real young. Couldn'ta been more then 16, 17. But, you know, times were tough for me back then, could barely provide for myself, ya know. So I couldn't really offer him nothin'."

Bruce nodded.

"Well, the neighborhood was real rough. Deep down town, near the borough of Lomax. You know it?"

Bruce again nodded.

Did he ever, he thought. It was one of the most crime ridden borough's in all of Gotham. He spent large amounts of time patrolling the area every week.

"Yeah, well…" The man began again. "It's one of them places you keep your head down. You know? You see trouble, you just keep walkin', unless you wanna get yourself killed, right?" He laughed.

Bruce didn't find it amusing.

"Anyway… uh, so one day I'm comin' home from work, 'bout 6 at night I think. And I see this kid comin' down the sidewalk, towards me. He's got his hands shoved in his pockets, his head down. I remember all of a sudden a loud ruckus comin' up behind me and then a group of, like, 4 guys pushing past me, knockin' me outta their way, talkin' real loud, makin' lot's of noise. They looked like trouble. You know? Anyway, I seen em' headin' straight for the kid and I remember I kept thinkin' 'move, move!', you know, cause he was walkin' straight for em'. But it was like he didn't even see em'. He seemed totally spaced out or somethin'. Then the four guys, they stop dead in front of him and he just keeps walkin' until he actually, like, bumps right in to em'. I swear they did that on purpose, just to give em' an excuse." The man shook his head. "My heart about stopped then though, cause these guys got mad. And they, like, pushed the kid back and started cussin' at him."

"_The __fuck__!" The man in front swore._

_Anthony looked startled, like he hadn't even known they were there._

_An instant later and the man had put his hands on him, shoving him backward._

"_Why don't you watch where you're goin'!? You little shit!"_

"_I-I'm sorry." He stuttered out. "I didn't see you."_

"_No shit. You're a real genius. We got a real genius on our hands here boys!" The man laughed, looking around to his friends and the rest of them joined in._

_Anthony looked down._

"_I'm sorry." He muttered again, moving to walk around them._

"_Oh, no, no, no." The man who pushed him again put his hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "See kid, it don't work that way. You don't just get to say sorry and have everythin' be copasetic. You gotta __make it up__ to us sweetheart."_

_Anthony stared at him for a moment, saying nothing, and then again tried to push past. And again he was shoved back._

"_I don't think you're understandin' me kid. I __said__, you gotta make it up to us."_

"_Let me alone." Anthony responded, his voice flat._

_The man narrowed his eyes._

"_I'm sorry, what?" The man put a hand to his ear as if he didn't hear._

_Anthony said nothing._

"_What did this kid just say?" The man looked around to the others, as if for an answer._

"_I think he wants for us to __show__ him what we mean." One of them replied._

"_Yeah. Yeah, I think you're right." The man looked back to Anthony. "Let's __show__ him."_

_The three others came at him then, grabbing him roughly by the arms and then forcing him down, on to his knees._

_The one in front smirked as they held him in place._

"_Now whatchyer' gonna do baby…" He began to undo his belt buckle. "Is suck my dick."_

_Anthony tried to twist his arms free in vain as the three men held him tight._

"_Understand?" The man sneered._

_Anthony stared hard at him, remaining silent._

"_I said, __understand __cupcake!?" The man reared his hand back, slapping Anthony hard across the face._

_His head turned fully to the side from the blow and a moment later he could taste blood along his lower lip. He looked back to the man, his face expressionless._

"_Fuck you." He said, his voice low, almost a whisper._

_The man looked at his sideways._

"_What the __fuck__ did you just say?!" He hissed._

_Anthony breathed in deep through his nose._

"_Fuck… you…" He again said, more pronounced._

_And suddenly the man pulled a gun from behind him, pressing the barrel against the boy's temple._

"_You wanna __repeat__ that you little shit." He growled._

_Anthony said nothing, keeping his eyes trained on the man._

"_Yeah… yeah, I didn't think so." He spit, pushing the pistol against his head before pulling it away and putting it back in the waist band of his pants._

"_Now…" He began unzipping his fly. "You're gonna suck me off. And you're gonna do it __good__ you little faggot, or I'm gonna blow your brains all over this street here. Got it?"_

_The boy didn't answer and the man smirked, a moment later taking himself out of his pants. _

"_Open wide princess." He laughed, forcing himself past Anthony's lips and in to his mouth, down his throat._

_For some seconds the man's head lolled back and he began to mutter as the others began to whoop and holler in approval._

"_Yeah baby, that's right. Give it to me." He groaned. "Give it to DaddAAAHHH!!!"_

_The man's voice pitched high and he began to scream without inhibition, jerking away, desperately trying to free himself. But Anthony wouldn't let go._

"_WHAT IS IT!? WHAT THE FUCK'S WRONG!?" One of the men screamed._

"_G… AHGHH… GET HIM O-OFF M-ME…" _

_Moments later he let go and the man fell back, blood pouring down the front of his trousers and on to the pavement. A second later and he collapsed to the ground, crying in agony, writhing in pain._

_And then the boy spit something large from his mouth and it hit the ground with a soft thwack._

_The others fell back then, and he felt their grip on him release._

"_J-Jesus Christ man!" One of them stuttered. "He… he bit off his dick! He bit off his __fucking __dick!"_

_They all stood frozen in horror for a moment, the only sound then filling the air the sound of their friend's screams. And then one took a gun from his inside jacket pocket and raked the butt of it across Anthony's jaw, and he fell forward, catching himself on his hands. Moments later and they all had their weapons out. And they began to beat him, driving the handles atop his head and across his face, against his body, in to his abdomen and ribs, until he'd crumpled to the sidewalk, a defenseless heap._

_And they kept on like this for several minutes, until Anthony no longer moved._

_Seconds later and they were dragging their friend away, blood washing over the pavement where they past over._

"I'd hidden behind a car parked on the street, just watching this whole thing go down." The man sucked on his cigarette, shaking his head. "That guy must have bled to death. I mean, there was blood everywhere. Couldn't believe it."

Bruce swallowed hard.

"What about the boy?" He forced himself to ask.

"I thought he was dead." The man said. "And I guess that's what those douchbags musta' thought too. That's why they left, I'm guessin'. Must a thought they'd beat him to death. I mean, he wasn't movin' or nothin'. After a few minutes I finally got up the courage to go see. Man, what a mess. With that guys… _thing_ on the ground and shit. Ugh. A few feet away's when I saw he was still alive. He started to, like, actually try and push himself to his hands and knees. But he was completely fucked. I mean, blood just pourin' outta his nose and mouth, his face already swollen to hell. I imagine his body musta' looked 'bout the same.

I went up to him slowly and asked him if he needed any help. But it was like he didn't even see me. Didn't even hear me. He just forced himself to his feet. Man, I don't know even know how he did that. He literally looked like he'd been to hell an' back. He didn't say nothin'. Didn't acknowledge me. When he took a step forward he collapsed and I said to him he should get to a hospital. I didn't have a car back then so I told him I'd call him a cab. But he just kept on ignoring me and again forced himself to his feet.

He was hunched over and holdin' his side, and I knew he musta' been in some real pain. But somehow he pushed himself forward and he just started walkin'. Crazy shit.

I watched him 'till he finally disappeared 'round a corner. And I didn't see him no more after that"

The man paused, looking down.

"But what _really _creeped me out man…" He shook his head. "The whole time those guys were beatin' on him like that, I mean, just really layin' in to him, hittin' with their guns and kickin' him and shit, the whole time, the kid didn't make _one sound_. Didn't scream or cry or nothin'. He was just totally _quiet_. Fuckin' weird." He took another drag. "Never seen anythin' like it. I mean, the kid was _strange_. You know what I mean?"

"That's bizarre." Bruce agreed, thinking of the footage he'd watched several months in to Anthony's imprisonment, when he no longer reacted to the tortures they subjected him to.

"Yeah. And to make shit weirder, couple weeks later, and those three guys were found dead. The copd's found the one guy bled out in some ally a couple days later. But those three others, they were cut up real bad, just like, _hacked_ to shit and left out on the street for everyone to see. It was disgustin'. In that neighborhood people were gettin' killed all the time and nobody thought nothin' of it. Usually guys just got shot or whatever. But this was brutal. Looked like they'd been tortured."

The man threw his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out with his foot.

"For a while I thought maybe it was that kid that done it. But he'd vanished by then. And they never did find who was behind it. Whoever it was though… they got those sucka's good."

Bruce nodded.

He didn't need to tell the man that he'd been right about the men's killer. He knew it was Anthony, without needing any actual evidence. He just knew.

He'd thanked the man for his time after that and went on his way, hoping to learn more.

What he heard of Anthony following the incident had been very different from the boy he'd learned about in DC, and began to resemble more closely the man he knew. The Joker.

People who saw him during that time, which was something rare apparently (he only occasionally was seen walking the streets, in different neighborhoods and districts of the city), said that when they did see him, he was always by himself.

By then he'd hit a growth spurt, reaching his full height, which intimidated them, apparently.

People said he looked _mean_. And dangerous. And no one ever talked to him; no one ever went up to him.

And he never approached anyone either.

Bruce had half expected to hear stories of Anthony getting involved in gangs or petty crime of some kind.

But there wasn't one account of him holding up any stores or jacking cars or ever even hurting anybody.

People said he just _looked_ like bad news. He didn't appear homeless. He wasn't dirty. He didn't really look like someone with money or a job either though.

No one really knew anything about him, who he was, where he went or lived.

After that it all became a haze.

Bruce couldn't find any information to connect Anthony to The Red Hood or that group of criminals.

But he knew, none the less, that it had been Anthony that he encountered that night, and who had fallen in to that vat of chemicals, coming out The Joker.

But no one knew anything about that, or ever saw Anthony with anyone else.

It was bizarre.

The whole connection just fizzled out and all that was left was a blank gap between what had _been_ and what had happened on that night, at Axis Chemicals, 14 years earlier.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

To make matters worse, apparently The Joker hadn't at all been active since he escaped Batman's custody, and that concerned the vigilante _deeply_.

He'd expected him to lay low for a while, to recover from his injuries, but he'd expected him to make a move by now.

He'd be going after Sharp, he knew that, and so he'd been keeping watch the last few days on the ex-Warden's home. He saw the man had taken precautions, two armed guards at his front door, in a gated community.

That would do nothing to stop The Joker.

He leaned back in his chair, breathing out heavily through the nose, unlatching his cowl and letting it fall to the floor.

He'd just gotten back from apprehending Two-Face and dropping him at Arkham.

Harvey had been relatively easy to take out this time. The vigilante had been tracking him the last few weeks, hearing nothing from The Joker, and so had been able to get the drop on him, taking out the few thugs he had on hand with ease, doing the same to the former district attorney.

So the night hadn't been a total loss.

Reaching forward, he brought the computer from sleep mode, the screens lighting up with various security monitors he had going around the city, switching to a new camera every 30 seconds.

When they switched to the front of Quincy Sharps home, Batman starred hard at it for a moment before it dawned on him what was wrong with the picture.

"The guards!" He stood.

They were gone.

"Damnit!" He spit, reaching down, taking up the cowl before turning, dashing for his car.

He's standing again, pacing back and forth before them, his thumbs hooked beneath his suspender straps, snapping them out and then letting them go, making a soft, thwapping noise.

He's wiry and strong looking.

Sharp doesn't remember him looking that way, for some reason. He guesses it's because last time he saw him, he was being manhandled by a group of four thick and burly men, all sporting nightsticks.

On top of which, he'd been starving, thinner then even now.

He's scared and he can feel tears pooling in his eyes, ready to fall.

The Joker stops moving suddenly and turns towards him.

He's smiling. He's _always_ smiling it seems.

"You know…" He begins, stepping closer. Sharp pushes instinctively back. "I wouldn't even be _mad_ if you hadn't tried to _guise_ it as some form of therapy." He pauses, looking down at the Warden, his eyes hard. "It gave you a thrill." He leans down now, his face inches from the older man's. "Gave you a… _kick_."

Sharp is half turning his head away now.

"N-no." He stutters out.

"Oh, come now Sharpie. You can't lie to _me_! The pleasure you felt was immense. I know. Watching me starved. Seeing me bound and gagged and beaten. You _yourself_ doing the beating. It was fun! Am I right? Of course I am. That really tickled you inside, didn't it? Kind of like…" He reaches down suddenly, cupping the Warden's crotch. "having sex."

Sharp jumps, grasping The Joker's wrist and shoving his hand away.

"NO!" He yells. "That isn't true! That' isn't _true_! _You're_ the sick one. The _perverted _one!"

The Joker frowns suddenly, reaching out too quickly for the older man to even see, taking him by the shirt and lifting him from the couch, swinging him around and slamming him to the floor, flat against his back.

The Joker straddles him, pressing his palm against his chest, his thighs pressed against his hips.

"The only problem…" He begins, taking another cigarette from the pack and placing it between his lips, lighting it a moment later. He inhales deeply, than takes the cigarette in his fingers, letting the smoke seep slowly out through his nose and then partially opened mouth. "… was the reaction." He finishes. "Reaction is everything, after all." He takes another drag. "We _live_ for reaction… Nothing feels quite as _good_…as when we elicit an envisioned response, the kind we were _hoping_ for."

He leans back, sucking on the cigarette again.

Then he exhales, blowing the smoke in Sharp's face, making him cough.

"You didn't get that, did you?" He stares at the Warden for a moment. "No. You wanted to see me scream and cry and beg for your mercy. _That _would have been the clincher. That would have pushed you over the edge to ecstasy, wouldn't it have? But like I said, Sharpie…" He leans down again, his face maybe half an inch from the older man's. "... pain isn't something I'm all that bothered by. In fact, as you yourself noted, I'm something of a masochist. That thrill you get from imposing your will on others? Well, whenever I experience pain, whether self-inflicted or by the hand of another, I get that same sort of rush. It just… lights me up inside, and I feel. so. _good_." His smile widens. "Really dear, I'm disappointed. Being as well respected and experienced as you _are _in the psychiatric field, I'd have thought you'd be aware such tactics have proven entirely _ineffectua_l against me. Where's the creativity? Where's the imagination? If you wanted me to break, if you wanted to see me crumple and fall and blubber like a baby who's just soiled themselves, then you should have given it more thought, sweety-pie."

He brings his eyes to the burning cigarette held between his thumb and index finger now.

"But, I suppose, we can't all be as aware of others comprising parts as I am." He laughs.

"You shouldn't have pretended it was for anything other then your own satisfaction." He says, his tone suddenly serious. "There's nothing _wrong_ with that… You're dishonest, telling yourself and others that you're some upstanding bastion of morality when, really, you're just as _depraved _as you like to accuse the rest of us of being... Depravity as identified by societal standards of right and wrong, in any event." Again he laughs. "And, as I told that lovely daughter of yours already, definitions of right and wrong are entirely subjective. And really, when one takes this in to account, nothing really can be said to be one or the other, can it? No." He shakes his head. "What you did to me isn't perverse or corrupt, or _wrong_. It's your denial of the real reasons you did it which is. _That's _depravity, doctor. How unbelievably _mendacious_ you are. So much so that you've convinced _yourself_ even of the false reasoning you offered for your actions. That's the real joke, isn't Sharpie?"

The Warden is absolutely paralyzed with fear, unable to respond, his mouth dry as cotton.

The Joker sighs, taking another drag off his cigarette.

"Well, _I_ don't have any problems admitting what turns me on." He says, his voice light and cheery. "And unlike you, doctor, I know precisely what buttons need pushing to evoke the desired result."

"Open wide Sharpie!" He chuckles, bringing the cigarette closer to his face.

Sharp sees immediately what the madman intends and clamps his jaw tight, refusing to budge.

The Joker rolls his eyes dramatically before reaching out with his free hand, taking hold of the Warden's nose and squeezing tight.

The older man's face strains with the attempt to hold his breath and The Joker laughs at how absurd it looks, red cheeks and eyes bulging.

Finally the Warden can't hold it any longer and his mouth flies open, sucking air desperately.

The Joker wastes no time, jamming the lit end of the cigarette against Sharps exposed tongue, grinding it out against the soft, wet muscle.

The Warden screams, the sound coming from his throat more animal then human, pitched high and unrestrained.

The Joker erupts in to laughter, his hysterics mixing bizarrely with the older man's cries of agony, and it's all made more surreal by the screams of Sharps wife and daughter.

"Shh, shh, shh." The Joker pats the Warden's cheek tenderly as he begins to sputter and choke, sweat pouring off his brow. "I know it hurts. I know. But if you want to make it through the night, you're going to have to toughen up _just_ a bit dear." He smiles.

"Leave my Daddy alone!" Bella suddenly screams, breaking away from her mother's hold and jumping from the couch.

"BELLA!" The woman cries, reaching out for her, but it's too late, and the girl is already running for The Joker.

She crashes in to the madman's side, but the impact does little to move him. Instead he turns towards her, an amused expression playing across his face.

"Oh! Little darling! You want to join the fun?!" He asks her merrily.

She begins to pound against him with her tiny, balled fists, crying.

"Leave him alone! Leave him alone!" She yells, over and over.

"Okay then." The Joker's grin widens and he catches her arm as she flails towards him.

His grip tightens mercilessly and instantly the girl begins to scream, her voice coming out in a wail.

"Oh Jesus, let her go!" The woman cries.

The Joker ignores her, his hold tightening still as he stands, and Bella falls to her knees, sobbing out, loud and uncontrolled.

"Now honey, what's the matter?" He asks innocently. "I thought you wanted to play this game?"

The girl is flailing on the floor now, screaming and crying.

"L… leave her a… a-alone!" Sharp rolls to his side, choking out, trying to force himself to his hands and knees.

The Joker isn't listening as he begins to twist the girls arm back, against its natural direction.

She screams without restraint then, her face a giant, red bowl of snot and tears.

He's breaking her arm, fracturing the bone.

"Oh God, PLEASE, JESUS, LEAVE HER ALONE!" Sharp screams, managing to roll to his knees, reaching out for the lunatic.

The wife is screaming and crying, too overcome with horror to move.

Finally the Warden manages to crawl forward enough and he grasps desperately at The Joker's leg.

"S-STOP!" He cries. "STOP IT!"

The Joker turns his head down and looks down at the older man, apathetic, his eyes cold and hard.

"Daddy's come to your aid dear!" He says, turning back to girl's crumpled form on the floor. He hasn't let go and continues to twist until he hears the sharp crack of bone splintering and Bella's screams reach a new pitch.

She sounds like a dying animal.

Sharp grasps on to The Joker's leg with what little strength he has now, mumbling incoherently for him to stop.

Suddenly the madman turns and he lifts the girl in to the air by her now broken arm, the limb limp, bending at an unnatural and awkward angle. She continues to scream and then The Joker swings her around, slamming her down on top of her father and they both cry out, falling backward.

The wife throws herself from the couch then, on to the floor and beside them.

The Joker steps back, observing them without expression, the sobbing, shaking, blubbering heap of them.

He turns away, walking towards where he left his coat draped over the chair.

Reaching to it's inside pocket, he pulls out a medium sized knife, serrated along its blades edge.

"You know…" He begins, turning back and towards them. He stops in front of the girl and crouches down to meet her face. "You want to protect your Daddy, but if your Daddy hadn't decided to take his feelings of inadequacy out on me, I wouldn't even be here, and I wouldn't have done that to your arm."

She isn't listening as she writhes against her mother in agony.

This seems to displease The Joker and he reaches towards her to grab her face.

"Stay away!" Her mother cries, pulling Bella back.

The Joker reacts by grabbing hold of the woman's hair, jerking her forward and punching her hard across the jaw. She falls back, slumped, unconscious and then he grabs for the girl again, taking her face in his hand and pulling her forward, her cheeks bunching together.

She begins to whimper as The Joker brings the knife to her face, pressing the flat of the blade against it.

"Why don't we give you a pretty smile to match that pretty face of yours?" He says to her, forcing the knife's tip past her lips, in to her mouth.

"NO!" Sharp screams, reaching out. "No, stop…"

The Joker glances up at him from the girl.

Suddenly a wicked smile spreads over his lips and he pushes Bella to the floor, holding her in place.

She's mewing now like she's gone in to shock and the Warden is staring at her, his eyes huge, tears streaming down his face.

"Oh!" The Joker says, sounding surprised. "Oh, you want me to stop?"

Sharp looks up at him, nodding slowly, his breath coming is short, desperate gasps.

"Please…" His voice comes out weak.

"Hmm." The lunatic leans back, eyeing the older man. "You reeeeally want me to stop?"

"God, yes. P-please. Just… leave my daughter alone."

The madman sticks his tongue along the inside of his cheek, looking contemplative.

"How badly do you want me to?" He asks.

"W-what?" Sharp stammers, confused.

"How badly do you want me to stop?" The Joker repeats calmly, his voice so even and steady it might lull you to sleep.

The Warden gaps at him for a long moment, his eyes huge and disbelieving.

"Please…" He finally croaks. "Just please… I-I'll do anything, just leave her alone. God please…"

The Joker's tongue comes out then, running over his long lips.

"Anything, hmm?" He repeats. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes!" Sharp nearly screams. "Just let her go! I'll do anything! Anything you say!"

The Joker chuckles lightly.

"Huh." He looks down at Bella. "What do you say to that baby doll?" He asks her in nearly a whisper. "Daddy wants to return the favor from earlier and protect _you_ now."

He looks back up at the Warden.

"Let's say we put it to the test, hmm? See if Sharpie's proclamation holds true. What do you say Sharpie? You want a chance at redemption? Prove to me you aren't all smoke and mirrors and carefully chosen semantics?"

"Yes!" Sharp cries. "Yes, please! Just let her alone. I promise you, I'll do whatever you say!"

The Joker smiles again and looks down at the girl, who's begun to shiver, the same strange sound still coming from her throat.

"Okay then." He says. "What do you think Bella? You think dear Daddy will pull through? You think he'll do whatever it takes to spare you more harm?"

She doesn't answer.

He looks back up to the doctor.

"I don't think he will." He says, more to himself then anyone, his voice suddenly empty of amusement. "But we'll see. Perhaps I'm wrong."

Suddenly he flicks his wrist and the knife spins around in his hand, the handle now pointing in Sharp's direction.

The Joker holds it out to him.

"Cut off your nose." He says easily.

Sharp stares at him.

"W-what?" He stutters.

"Your nose." The Joker reiterates. "Cut it off and I'll let your daughter go, no questions asked."

The older man is speechless for a moment, and he sits, just gaping at the lunatic.

"I… I…" He stumbles over his own words, his mouth gone suddenly dry.

The Joker shrugs.

"The power to save your precious angel is in your hands and yours alone, Dr. Sharp." He says. "All you have to do…" He smiles faintly. "Is engage in a little _self-mutilation_."

Sharp tries to swallow, finding the action incredibly difficult all of a sudden. He can feel his fingers and toes growing numb and his limbs growing heavy with fear.

"Please…" He manages to whisper. "I… I c-can't. Just… just let her g-go."

"'fraid I can't do that Sharpie." The Joker says calmly. "A deal's a deal. And you _did_ say you'd do anything."

"B-but…" The Warden stumbles. "I-I'll bleed to death…" He tries to argue.

"No." The Joker shakes his head. "You won't. You'll just be in incredible pain and horribly disfigured. But I'm sure you've gotten plenty of money saved and will have little difficulty in affording the best plastic surgeons available. And besides, even if you _were_ to bleed out, you _said anything_."

The older man begins to shake his head in dismay.

"Please… please…" He sobs. "Don't do this… don't make me do this… Just l-let her go."

The madman sighs, looking back down at the girl.

"Sorry sweety." He says to her. "Looks like Daddy doesn't care about you as much as he does himself. Or as much as you care for him." He chortles. "That's just too bad. Too bad for you, mainly. Daddy's a liar Bella. He doesn't _mean_ what he says."

Suddenly he brings the knife back around, quickly forcing it back past the girl's lips, pressing the edge against the corner of her mouth.

"OH, GOD, PLEASE!" Sharp screams, his voice breaking with the intensity.

"Don't worry baby." The Joker speaks quietly. "It'll only hurt a moment."

Suddenly there's a loud crash, the front door collapsing in, and both Sharp and The Joker turn towards the noise.

"Joker, STOP!"

Batman is there, standing huge and menacing in the entryway.

"Oh, so _now_ you decide to show?!" The Joker rolls his eyes dramatically. "Geez Bats, talk about cutting it _close_. I've been out there, what, a month and a half? _Fully _expecting for you would show up at my front door, all in a rage, ready to take me back to Arkham before I'd gotten the chance to do… well, what I'm doing!" He laughs.

"Joker, drop the knife and step away from the girl." Batman repeats.

The Joker gives him a confused look.

"Why would I do that?" He asks, as though genuinely bemused.

"I don't want to have to hurt you!" The vigilante presses.

This elicits a sharp laugh from the maniac.

"Oh, back to that are we?" He manages between hysterics. "I swear darling, your entire existence is predicated on denial. Isn't it?"

"Joker, listen to me." Batman is breathing heavily, both from the adrenaline of rushing here and from the delicacy of the situation. "I _understand_ why you're so angry. I know you think Sharp deserves this and in a way I agree..."

"Are you _out of your mind_!?" The Warden yells suddenly at him. "He's a complete _lunatic_! Don't just stand there! _Do_ something!"

Batman looks angrily at Sharp.

"_Shut up_!" He spits. "Don't you say _another_ word! You have _no idea_ of what you're dealing with here." He turns his focus back to The Joker.

The older man's eyes go wide in surprise as he's stunned in to silence.

"Joker, please." He begins again. "I understand your anger. And maybe Sharp deserves everything that's coming to him. But listen to me. His wife and daughter have done _nothing_ to you. They aren't a part of this. You have to let them go."

The Joker laughs bitterly.

"I don't _have _to do anything Batsy." He spits.

"Look…" The crusader takes a cautious step forward. "I found something. Something very important. Something which I think can help you."

"Oh gee, thanks babe." The Joker says sarcastically. "But I think I've had enough _help _to last me one lifetime."

He's tensing up, Bruce can see it. And there's no telling what he'll do if he loses it. He has to be careful.

"Joker, listen, please. I… I know you're in a lot of pain." He takes another step forward. "I know that. But what I've found… I think if you let me, I can help you to deal with it. Maybe even get through it."

The Joker is winding more tightly now, his grip on the girl intensifying.

"Please…" Batman moves closer. "Let me help you."

Suddenly The Joker stands, not letting go of the girl, but lifting her from the floor.

"Heh. You say that like I _need_ it." He laughs. "I don't need yours or anyone's help Batman. I'm perfectly happy! Can't you tell?!"

"No Joker." Batman shakes his head. "You're not. You're hurting. You're in pain."

"We're all in pain." The Joker is beginning to back away now.

"You're lonely." Batman is quick to respond. "You feel like no one in the world understands. Like no one gets the joke. Right?"

The Joker is starring hard at him now, his face completely serious

"But listen to me. _I_ understand! I feel it too. I understand where you've been."

He takes another step forward.

"We can get through this together, if you just allow it…" He reaches out.

"Like hell…" The Joker whispers. And suddenly he shoves the girl forward, violently, right in to Batman. And then he dashes, and before the vigilante has a chance to respond, he's on Sharp, wrapping his arm around the doctor's neck and jerking his head backward and up, bringing the knife to his exposed throat.

He's going to slash him right open, Batman can see it.

He panics.

"ANTHONY, STOP!"

Everything freezes.

The room falls silent.

The Joker is staring at him.

"What?" He says, his voice soft.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18:**

"Your name." Batman slowly lowers the girl to the floor, keeping his eyes on The Joker. "I know you probably don't remember, but that's your name. Your _real_ name."

The Joker looks at him hard, his face without expression. His grip on the Warden isn't loosening.

And then suddenly he begins to laugh.

"Oh, you _are_ darling, aren't you?" He manages between hysterics. "_So_ cute…"

The vigilante stares at him slack jawed for a moment.

"I'm _serious_." He says. He breaths in through his nose. "Do you…" He pauses, questioning in his mind whether this is the right tact. But he realizes then he has little choice. Any wrong moves and The Joker could easily slice Sharps throat open.

And he _knows_ there would be no hesitation on the madman's part.

He swallows.

"Do you remember when… our first few encounters… you repeatedly went back to a place. A laboratory. You _kept_ going back there despite knowing I knew of it and that I'd find you there. Do you remember?"

The Joker doesn't answer him, only stares.

"That's not like you Joker." Batman continues. "You're too smart to make mistakes like that. You always move when I discover one of your hideouts. You _always_ move. But not that time. You felt compelled to it, didn't you? Like you had some sort of connection to it."

"Heh." The Joker chuckles. "It's beyond my recollection dear." He says, taking a step back, pulling Sharp with him.

Batman takes a step forward, his hands outreached to show he intends no attack.

"_Think_ Joker. You _must_ remember!"

The Joker just shakes his head.

"I found tapes." The crusader tells him. "Video surveillance of a boy who was held there, as a prisoner. He was being tested on, experimented on by a doctor…"

The Joker again steps back, his back nearly against the wall.

"The boy…" Batman says. "It was you."

The Joker doesn't say anything for a moment, just studies the vigilante, his eyes intent.

And then he smiles.

Batman thinks he's going to say something, but he doesn't, and so he talks himself.

"The doctor called you Anthony." He says. "That's your name. Your mind just forced you to forget. It was too much. The trauma was too severe."

The room goes quiet then, and all that can be heard is the sound of the Warden's soft whimpers.

The Joker's pupils have gone wide, engulfing his irises. His eyes look black. And he's still smiling.

Batman knows he's made a mistake.

Suddenly the madman leans forward, pressing his mouth against the older man's cheek, kissing it, keeping his sight locked on Bruce.

And then he pulls the knife from Sharps throat, rearing it back, and in an instant he's released it, the blade spinning through the air.

Batman can see its destination, can see where The Joker's aimed it, but it's all happening too quickly, and it's far too late to stop now.

The blade hits with a sickly sound, burying itself almost fully in to Bella's chest and she makes a sound like a gasp, almost too weak to hear.

"NO!" Batman screams, his eyes shooting wide.

And then his ears are filled with insane laughter and the sound of screams.

He drops to his knees, grabbing hold of the girl.

Somewhere in the background he can hear struggling and shouting and then muffled screams, and that damn laughing, and in his mind it vaguely registers that The Joker is escaping with Sharp.

But he can't do anything about that.

He's got to save this girl, get her to a hospital.

This is _his _fault, he keeps thinking.

He shouldn't have tried talking to the lunatic. Not in such a delicate situation, especially when it was _about _something so delicate.

The Joker was unpredictable. He _knew _that. It was the one thing he would most often remind himself of.

But it was for that reason that he made his error in judgment. He'd been desperate to get The Joker away from Sharp, afraid that he would feel cornered and simply kill the man then and there.

It was a stupid, _stupid_ call on his part.

And now he had a little girl, bleeding to death.

He removes his cape quickly, wrapping it around her and gently lifting her in his arms.

When he looks up The Joker is gone, and so is the Warden.

He has no time to check on the woman. She's breathing, and right now, that'll have to do.

He looks down at the girl again.

"Hang on." He whispers, dashing for the door.

//////////////

"Quincyyyyyyy… Quincy Shaaaarpppp…"

He heard his name being called and felt a light slap against his cheek as he slowly came to, his eyes opening, filling with blurred shapes and light.

"Ohhh…" He groaned, his lids snapping shut again as some overhead light flooded his vision. "Wha…?"

"Oh, nasty stuff, isn't it?"

He heard the same voice and forced his eyes open, turning his head in its direction. It took only seconds for him to register The Joker sitting beside him.

His pupils went wide with fear and realization as the madman held up a white cloth, waving it lazily in front of him.

"Chloroform." He said, shrugging. "I've found myself on the receiving end of this little chemical _more_ then a few times." He chuckled. "Leaves you pretty groggy… and a little nauseous." He leaned closer. "But don't worry. It won't last."

The Warden tried to move then, reflexively wanting to pull away, and found that his arms were tied down, quickly followed by the realization that his legs were the same and that he was lying flat, bound against a table of some kind.

And then he remembered what had happened. He remembered being held with a knife to his throat. And he remembered seeing that knife fly through the air before sinking in to hid daughters chest.

And he began to scream.

"Y… You k-killed her! You bastard… You killed h-her!" His voice pitched high and broke, barely able to form the words with his tongue sore and burning.

"Oh, don't exaggerate." The Joker waved a dismissive hand. "She's not dead. I aimed the knife away from her heart. At worst she's got a punctured lung. And with Batsy there to _save_ her, you can be assured she received immediate medical care."

Sharp starred at him in disbelief.

"You know, that's probably why you're going bald…" The madman mused, reaching out and running a hand over the older man's head. "Too much stress. You shouldn't worry so much."

"A-are you telling the truth?" Sharp stumbled over the words.

The Joker assumed a bemused expression.

"Why should I lie?!"

Sharp said nothing.

"Anyway…" The Joker went on, standing suddenly. "I'd hoped dear, sweet Bella might show better understanding of the situation. She'd shown such promise. She was, after all, quite distraught over your _own_ actions. I thought perhaps she'd be sympathetic towards my cause. But apparently, the doll is adverse to _all _violence." He laughed. "Ironic, considering her _role _model." He grinned and leaned in close. "Of course, _that _notion's predicated on the rather _foolish_ assumption that you ever were available to the girl as such."

He starred hard at the Warden for a moment before straightening.

"Hmm." He said. "No. You're far and away too self-absorbed to _ever_ be that, aren't you? Too obsessed with gaining the illusion of control and power."

He turned away then, walking around Sharp and behind him so that he was out of the older man's line of sight.

"How many _times_ did beautiful Bella come _bounding_ in to your study, eager to play some child's game with her loving, well-_respected_ father, only to be turned away and told he simply was too _busy_, hmm?"

The Warden heard the clank of metal on metal and he swallowed hard.

Moments later and The Joker had come back around to his view, this time carrying with him a pair of needle nosed pliers.

"It's really too bad you won't ever have the opportunity to make that up to her." He said, moving to the foot of the table, standing still there, looking down at Sharp. "To think, the child's last, _real_ memory of her father will be of how he was too cowardly, too _selfish _to protect her from the whimsy of a madman. A madman whose wrath was brought about by her selfish father's heedless actions alone. How disappointing for her."

Quietly he began to untie the laces of Sharp's left shoe before smoothly removing it, and then the sock.

As he started on the other foot, he again began to speak.

"Well, Sharpie, look on the bright side. At least your long suffering wife will at last reap the benefits of having married a man twice her age. You're untimely demise is sure to award her copious amounts of money, what with your undoubtedly generous life insurance policy shifting in to affect."

"Oh God…" Sharp mumbled. "Please don't kill me… please…"

The Joker threw his other shoe to the floor and then looked up at him, smiling.

"Crying already?" He asked. "I haven't even started yet." And then he laughed. "Now, doctor, I understand your goal for me, when you had me imprisoned in Arkham, was to torture me until I was subjugated to your will. And, I suppose, to keep me alive as long as you were able while playing out your fantasies of dominance and control. You assumed, and I think correctly, that if and when my body finally gave way to your methods, that no one would really _bother _to investigate the cause of death. In all likelihood, they'd already _know_, but simply congratulate you in secret on your removal of what they deemed a _menace_ to society and threat to their delusions of safety." Again he laughed, more sharply. "But all that's beside the point. The point, my dear, is that you went about it _all_ wrong. You see, you simply lack knowledge of how properly to keep a victim alive for any extended period while also inflicting the topmost amount of _pain _on to them." He paused, holding up the pliers, eyeing them as though they held some great secret. "Well, sweetheart…" He smiled at the Warden. "consider me your teacher. Class is now in session. Let us begin lesson one."

///////////

She was okay. And that's all he'd cared about when he brought her in. The blade had pierced her lung, but the doctors had quickly gotten it under control and nothing else vital had been injure, and for that he was thankful.

He'd contacted the Commissioner shortly after, telling him what had happened, that Quincy Sharp had been taken, his little girl brought to Gotham General with a stab wound and broken arm, and that his wife had been left unconscious, back at the house. She would need to be checked on and informed of all that had occurred. That wasn't his job. And he knew Gordon and his team could handle all of that.

What he needed to concern himself with now was The Joker and Sharp.

He ground his teeth in frustration.

Once he'd gotten the little girl the attention she required and his mind had had a chance to settle down, the realization of what The Joker had done struck him and whatever he felt before was now washed away by nothing but anger.

The lunatic had tried to _kill_ a child. A girl who had never done _anything _to him. All as part of his sick, little game. All for his own, pathetic desire to get back at the Warden.

He swore to himself he was going to beat the life out of the madman when he found him. Make him pay for what he'd done.

Sharp was another issue all together. The Joker had him. And Batman knew, because of that, the former head of Arkham had little time left. But he also knew that The Joker would want the doctor to suffer and so would likely drag the process out.

The problem was finding them and doing so before Sharp suffered permanent, life-altering damage.

"_The idiot_." He thought to himself, shaking his head as he leapt in to his car's cabin.

He'd meant it when he yelled at the man that he had no clue as to what he was dealing with. He'd angered The Joker. Really _angered_ him. That was in itself a difficult task to accomplish and one even _he_ would avoid doing at all costs.

The Joker was bad enough as was. When he felt slighted or hurt in any way, then he became so much worse. And anyone foolish enough to incite those feelings in the madman, he thought, they were asking for it in the end.

Still, it was his duty to protect, even when those he protected were far from innocent themselves.

And he had an idea suddenly of where to start.

/////////

"GAHHHHHHHHH!" Sharp screamed out, his voice broken and uneven.

Sweat was pouring from his face and enveloping his shirt as the pain consumed him, raging like fire through his nerves.

The Joker looked up to him, his face curious.

"Oh, dear…" He said, placing an apologetic hand across his chest. "I'm sorry. Is this hurting you?"

He held the concerned expression as he brought the pliers up, bringing his gaze to them, studying the toe nail held between the tools two points, bloody.

He'd torn it from Sharp's toe, as he'd done already to three others. And then he tossed it forward, to land on the Warden's stomach, as he'd also done the others.

He shrugged when Sharp answered with nothing but gasps.

"I'll suppose that's a yes." He went on. "But Sharpie, you _have _to understand. This is _mere_ preparation. It makes the use of these little guys _so_ much more effective." He reached in to his pant pocket then, pulling out a fistful of half-inch long ball-headed pins. "You see…" He held one of the pins up for viewing. "It'd be awful difficult pushing the sharp end through your nails. _Especially _your nails, being so thick." The Joker assumed an expression of disgust. "Really doll, you should take better care in your grooming habits. As they say, cleanliness is next to Godliness, and society frowns upon those unkempt. For one as concerned as yourself with the opinion of others and with the attainment of respect, I should think you'd pay more attention to just that sort of thing."

"Oh God, please…" Sharp gasped out, his voice shaking with the effort.

The Joker looked away, putting the pins back in his pocket before resuming in his previous task, and the room again filled with the Warden's screams, interspersed with desperate mewing.

This continued until all ten of the older man's nails had been ripped from his feet and his toes were left bloody and raw, and he groaned in agony.

"The _mistake_ you made, doctor, one of many, I should say, is what little thought you put in to how you might best inflict _pain_. You chose to play out the most mundane, most clichéd methods imaginable. The typical direction a great many dim-witted cretins think effective as a form of torture; _bludgeoning _their victims with blunt objects, breaking their bones, slapping them around, attempting to humiliate by stripping them of their cloths, etcetera, etcetera. All very _boring_. And far from being the most efficient means by which to attain the breaking of a person's will." The Joker drew in a deep breath before releasing it in a quick, annoyed spurt through his nose. "These tactics may very well work with one as weak-minded as yourself, doctor. But for anyone possessing even the slightest kind of stubborn determination, for anyone with any _fight_, well, it becomes nessscary to then target more _responsive _areas of the body."

He grinned at Sharp, baring his teeth before again reaching in to his pocket and pulling a number of the same pins from before.

"You ever notice how much it _hurts_ when you stub your toe Sharpie?" He asked, never taking his eyes from the older man's face. "It's incredible, really, how _sensitive_ the digits are. They're just _tingling _with nerves. Of course, so we don't _hurt_ ourselves when we touch something hot or sharp or rough. You understand, I'm sure."

He paused, looking down at the pins in his hand.

"Yes indeed…" He began again. "Most of us take great precaution in protecting our digits. They mean so much to us, after all. To our every day lives… Let me show you _why_."

Suddenly he reached out and took hold of the Warden's foot before sinking a pin straight through one end of his big toe, and out the other side.

Sharp screamed an ear-piercing, high-pitched wail as it felt like fire at once consumed his foot and traveled fast up his leg. And his screams soon gave way to panicked gasps and moans as his eyes filled with tears, streaming from the corners and down his temples.

"P-pl-please…" He chocked out, his voice gurgled and slurred.

"Painful, hmm?" The Joker asked in a merry tone. "You can feel it right up in your gums, can't you?"

And then he laughed.

"I'm going to do the same to the other nine and then start on your fingers." He said as a matter of fact.

"O-oh G-God… Oh G-God…" Sharp mumbled incoherently, pulling desperately at his straps. "I be-beg of you…"

"Beg as you please, my dear." The Joker smiled, coming around the table. "It's _all the more_ pleasurable an experience when you do." Suddenly he leaned down so that his face was inches from the Warden's. "And if for an instant you think not to, well then, I'll just _make_ you. I'll make you _beg_ for death as a release from your torment. I _promise_ you that. You'll wish to God you'd never laid eyes on me." He chuckled lightly then. "And in one of those ironic twists of fate I do _so_ love, I'm thinking you may even have your prayer answered. At least, in part. I'm afraid the term 'too little, too late' may aptly apply to your situation by then. But ah, ah, my dear, doctor Sharp, I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? And I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. So let's get back to it, shall we?" He pat the older man's cheek tenderly before turning, again taking the pins, ready to resume his previous work.

//////////////

"So what've you been up to Jenkins?" Tommy held his tongue, pressed along the corner of his mouth and between his lips as he threw the dart. It missed the board all together, embedding in the wall beside it. "Damn…" He mumbled.

"Ah, nothin' too much. Was supposed to get a gig with Two-Face, was gonna go down to him tomorrow, but the Bat busted him, just tonight, I heard on the news. What about you?"

"Pff. Nothin'." Tommy answered, removing the dart from the wall. "Ain't had work in weeks. Most of the freaks are locked up in Arkham and I ain't heard no word from any of the gang bosses neither."

"Eh." Jenkins sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "What about Joker? He ain't in Arkham, right?"

Tommy stopped dead and stared hard at him.

"Joker!?" He exclaimed. "Man, you'd haveta' be outta your mind to work for that lunatic. 'Sides, don't you watch the news? 'parrently he got messed up real bad in Arkham. Somethin' 'bout the head guy there abusin' him."

"Yeah." Jenkins nodded. "I heard somethin' 'bout that. What happened exactly?"

"I don't know." Tommy shrugged. "But there was pictures they showed. So I guess it must be true. Joker was lookin' like he'd taken a hell of a beatin'. Worst I ever seen him look."

"Yeah." Jenkins chuckled. "Guess he ain't so tough now, huh?"

Tommy laughed with him, shaking his head.

"Guess not. 'Bout time someone handed it to that freak, you ask me. How much you wanna bet he cried like a little bitch when he was gettin' it?"

Jenkins was about to answer when there was a loud crash, and an instant later the joint's bouncer came flying across the floor, towards them.

They ducked out of the way and when they looked up, Batman was standing only a few feet from them. Everyone else in the place had scattered, some running out, others cowering in corners or hiding behind the bar and tables.

"Evening gentlemen." He said, his voice low and harsh. "I'd like to have a word with you."

Tommy was the first to stand, stumbling backward while Jenkins just tried to crawl away.

"W-we don't know nothin'!" He cried, nearly tripping over a chair.

Batman took a step forward, clenching his fists.

"But you don't even know what I'm going to ask." He said, a slight smirk spreading over his lips.

"I-I'm tellin' you Bat! We d-don't know n-nothin'!"

"You know enough." The vigilante took another step closer.

In a move too quick to perceive he'd retrieved a baterang from his belt and flung it sideways, an instant later and there was a cry of pain and the sound of metal hitting the floor, someone dropping their gun.

"Anyone else tries it and I'll make it so you won't ever be able to hold a gun again." The crusader warned in a voice loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

"That includes you two." He added, looking hard at Tommy and Jenkins.

The bar went silent, the two thugs swallowing hard, their hands moving away from where they'd been hovering around their jackets.

"Now you're going to tell me what I want to know."

"We ain't tellin' you shit, _freak_!" Jenkins gave a false show of bravado.

"Oh no?" The vigilante asked in mock surprise.

"No! We know what's up. You think you can just barge in here an' order us around?! Tell us what to do!? We ain't scared a' you!"

"No." Batman stepped closer, reaching out suddenly, taking the man by his shirt and pulling him violently forward. "Maybe not." He hissed in a low whisper. "But what about The Joker?"

"W-what about him?" Jenkins tried to sound calm but failed.

"Are you scared of him?" Batman pressed.

"N-no! We ain't scared a' no freaks!"

"Oh. Well then, you won't mind if next time I see him, I show him this?"

The crusader reached to his belt then, pressing a button, and suddenly the conversation Tommy and Jenkins had been having only minutes before filled the room, them laughing and making fun of The Joker, saying he'd gotten what he deserved.

Both men's faces visibly drained of color.

"You…" Tommy stuttered.

"I have the place_ wired_." Batman spit in explanation.

"Y-you ain't… you ain't gonna show that to The J-Joker…" Jenkins stuttered.

"You don't think?"

"H-he'd kill us!"

The vigilante smirked, throwing Jenkins to the floor.

"That's not my problem." He said.

"But…"

"You either tell me what I want to know, or I _promise_ you, a copy of this recording will end up in The Joker's hands."

"W-we don't know nothin'!" Tommy pleaded. "We don't know where he is!"

"No." Batman replied. "But you know where Groucho is."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19:**

The warehouse was dark when he entered it. Quiet. There was no movement he could detect, even through the night vision, and he assumed The Joker must be in an adjacent room. His assumption was strengthened when he spotted a closed door on the other side of the large space and slightly to the left.

He strode towards it silently.

It had taken him several days to locate Groucho, despite having culled information of his whereabouts from the two thugs at Shorties. They'd been sincere, he could tell. But when he'd arrived at the location they gave, despite there being evidence of his having been there, Groucho had already split. Someone had obviously tipped him off.

And so he'd had to go about interrogating people he knew would have information, and finally, after almost two days, he found him, hold up in an abandoned department stores in a once prominent neighborhood of Gotham which had since seen better days.

From there it had taken several hours of his _special_ kind of persuasion before the man finally gave in and told him where The Joker was hiding.

Nobody ever wanted to betray the madman to him. Often times they wouldn't, no matter what he did. Because they knew if The Joker ever found out, it wasn't unlikely he'd find them and kill them, and even kill their family. Though, it was equally likely he'd do nothing at all. The Joker was unpredictable like that. You just never knew _what _he was going to do.

But Batman had to find him, and though Groucho, a rough and tumble ex-bodyguard who hailed originally from New York, put up a fight, and then stubbornly held out for the next, several hours, eventually, the vigilante broke him and he sputtered out 1621 Belmont Square, an abandoned factory building, found in the city's lower east side.

And so here he was, and he approached the situation with the same caution he always did when dealing with Joker. He was fearful of what he'd find. Having been 2 days now since Sharp was taken, Bruce knew the likelihood of his still being alive was, at best, slim. What worried him more still, and which seemed likely even, is that the former Warden would be alive, but so brutally tortured that it might be better for him to have died.

Seeing a faint crack of light from under the door, the crusader gently placed his hand on its knob, breathing in deeply before turning and pushing it open as softly as was possible.

Still it creaked when he did and he silently cursed to himself, though he wasn't sure why.

He could _handle_ The Joker.

So he pushed it the rest of the way and stepped in, and when he did, he thought he understood the hesitation he'd felt better.

Across the room, smaller then the factories main entrance area, was a metal operating table, and strapped to that table was Quincy Sharp, or at least, what was left of him.

There was blood everywhere, dried on the floor and table, and on the motionless body of the ex-Warden.

Batman stared in shock at the sight filling his vision, unsure if what he was seeing was real.

The man's legs were gone. And so were his arms. The stumps patched in medical gauze, leaking red, consuming the white material.

He was nothing more then a torso and head.

The vigilante felt sure he must be dead, but as quickly as the thought had entered his mind, so too did the oddity of the gauze being in place.

Why would The Joker patch the wounds?

He stepped closer and as he did he felt his gut clench tight, at once realizing Sharp to still be alive when he saw his chest rise and fall in shallow breath.

His head then began to swim as he moved closer still and saw that the man's face was grossly deformed. Not even that. His face was _gone_. There was no nose, no lips. Even his ears were cut from his head.

The former Warden was completely unaware as he came upon him, and Batman realized with horror that the man could neither hear, nor smell. His eyes were closed, and Bruce noticed the lids looked heavy and black.

He reached out, touching Sharp's face, and when he did, the older man began to wine and squirm, making grotesque, slurped, smacking noises, unable to form any coherent words without lips.

He thought to tell him it was alright, that he wasn't here to hurt him, but realized he wouldn't be heard. And what use was it telling him it was alright when it very clearly was not?

He fought through his own nausea, forcing Sharp's left eye open. When he did, he suddenly knew why his lids had looked strange.

The vision had been burned from his eyes, literally. Batman recognized the damaged irises as being the result of having some hot object held too close, and for too long, in front of the eyes. He'd been blinded. And Bruce felt ill with the realization that all that was left of Quincy Sharp was a useless stump for a body, with no arms and no legs, and no senses but for the nerves in his skin.

Peeling back a layer of gauze, covering the ex-Warden's right arm stump, he saw that the wound had been stitched, the blood loss stopped, and he understood abruptly that The Joker had done this himself, to keep Sharp alive.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

His head snapped up and towards the direction of the soft voice.

And then he saw him. The Joker, sitting Indian style on a chair pushed up against a corner of the room, to the right, maybe 15 feet away.

He hadn't even seen him. He'd been too consumed by the sight of Sharp.

"The irony of it all, I mean." The Joker continued, looking at him without expression. "Now he's a freak. A greater freak then even us."

Bruce stared slack jawed at him for a moment. And he felt his face contort in anger when the thought entered his mind that The Joker looked somehow vulnerable, innocent even, like the boy he'd seen on the surveillance tapes. He didn't _want _to see him that way. Especially not now.

The fact that he was made him angrier still and his fists clenched in sudden rage.

"You sick..." He spit in a harsh whisper.

"I knew you'd find me." The Joker cut him off. "You always do." And then he smiled, if only faintly. "And how is dear Bella? Doubtless by now recovering with her caring mother at her side. You'd make sure of that. You, her dark protector." And then he laughed.

"You tried to kill her!" Batman at last spoke, the words coming out as a growl.

The Joker raised his eye brows, putting a hand to his chest in supposed offense.

"I did _not_." He said. "If I'd wanted her dead she _would_ be now."

The vigilante remained silent.

"How insulting you are." The madman spoke again. "And so very unaware of the fact."

The crusader faltered then, a look of confusion flashing across his face.

And in an instant, without even realizing it, he'd moved forward with frightening speed, grabbing The Joker roughly by the shirt and lifting him in to the air. A moment later and he'd spun the madman around, slamming him down hard against the floor before leaning down in to him, his knee jammed in to thin man's chest.

"I'll _kill_ you." He hissed.

The Joker's eyes remained locked with his, and still he smiled, never looking away.

"Do you _understand_!" Batman raged. "I'll kill you!" He lifted The Joker's head and shoulder's from the ground then, slamming him back down, his skull cracking hard against the cold stone. "You sick, perverted _bastard_!" And then he punched him, as hard as he could, and the lunatic's nose exploded with blood, a moment later and it poured from his mouth too.

The Joker looked quizzically at him for a brief moment and then erupted in to laughter. And Batman raged, hitting him again, and again, his mind suddenly consumed with nothing but the desire to wipe the laughing face away. But when he'd raised his fist to hit the maniac again, his face a mask of red, he was stopped by the sound of sputtering, his arm raised and frozen above.

"Spare me your puzzlement, please." The madman chuckled. "I'll bet you'd like to think I aimed away from the girl's heart out of some virtuous realization on my part. That I somehow understood suddenly how _wrong _it would be to kill a child. Oh, but you and I _both_ know such _dubious _questions of morality have never before caused me hesitation. No…" He shook his head. "No, I would have. I would have killed her, if I thought it would hurt him worst of all."

"You're deranged." Batman hissed.

"And you're predictable." The Joker shot back, his voice abruptly laced with anger. "What did you think was going to happen, hmm? That you'd come riding in, Gotham's great guardian, come riding in to save us all!"

"I wanted to help you!" The vigilante bore down harder, putting more pressure on The Joker's chest with his knee.

"Help me!" The Joker laughed in astonishment. "Help me _how_? By giving me a name and telling me some story of how I'd been tortured at the hands of a madman? Well here's something for you to ponder over a while. I've got nine million memories floating around this brain of mine, a whole heck of a lot of them a CPS worker's worst nightmare, or fondest dream, if they're being honest with themselves." He giggled. "But like I said, insulting without being aware even."

Batman's teeth ground in frustration.

"This isn't just _some_ story Joker. It's true! You didn't… You weren't always… _like this_."

The Joker frowned suddenly.

"Like _what_?"

"Like… like _this_!" Batman yelled. "You weren't always a monster!"

The Joker's expression grew to one of even greater displeasure then.

"I'm no monster." He said, his voice suddenly quiet.

"No?" Batman questioned, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Who but a _monster_ could do this!" He pointed towards Sharp, laid practically dead on the table across the room.

"Any man." The Joker spoke softly. "Any man if pushed far enough."

"Oh no." Batman almost laughed. "No. You tried to prove that once before, remember? And remember how _miserably _you _failed_? It's only you Joker. That's what you don't get. That's what you _refuse_ to see. It's only you."

The Joker's expression was one of pure rage then and abruptly his hands came up, grasping tight to Batman's wrists.

"Let me up." He spit, his tone hard and cold, all amusement gone from it.

Batman ignored, leaning in closer.

"You like to think you're special, but all you really are is sick. That's all you are. Someone who can't function properly. Someone who can't _cope_ with the _real_ world. You need to be in a hospital, taken care of and supervised, like a child."

The Joker said nothing then, keeping his eyes locked on the vigilante, his eyes ablaze in fury.

And then, without warning, Batman let him go and stood, stepping back.

The action seemed to surprise The Joker and for a few moments he continued to lie there, before finally lifting himself up on to his elbows, keeping his gaze on the crusader.

"The sad thing is Joker…" Bruce again began to speak. "is that once you _were_ special. You were a prodigy. A genius. You had a unique ability, a unique intellect. You could have been an amazing asset to your fellow man. But now…" He shook his head. "Now you're barely a man at all. More of an animal. You fell in to the wrong hands, people used you for selfish, cruel reasons, and there was a weakness in you Joker which caused you to go mad because of it. If you'd really been great, if you been strong, you'd have overcome what happened to you. You'd have overcome it."

The room fell silent for a moment then, The Joker saying nothing, not even really reacting, just starring, hard and cold.

And then he smiled.

"Heh." He laughed. "But didn't you just prove me right dear?" He asked. "All men are capable of what they've deemed evil. Most harbor dark, supposedly perverse thoughts. Deep desires from which they refrain for fear of repercussion. Our dear friend Dr. Sharp may serve as proof that there is wisdom in such abstinence." He chuckled. "But it does not change the fact of those desires, nor the fact that if they feel they can get away with it, without consequence, either consequence from others, or from fear of their own guilt, then the great majority of the world's _human_ population will engage in any and all manor of moral ambiguity. If the tale you tell is true, it serves only as evidence of my correctness. If you say I'm a monster Batman, then we _all _are. Even you, my sweet. How many times have you thought of the joy it might bring you to end my life? What degree of euphoria does it bring you to beat me? Really babe, if you're being honest with yourself, the only reason you don't kill me is because you know you couldn't bear the guilt. You couldn't live with yourself. Ultimately, your reason for refraining is completely selfish. It isn't some inborn piety that keeps you from it; it's the fear of what will become of you if you do. You're afraid of becoming like me, but the joke is, you already are. Deep down. The only difference between us being, you're dictated by your fear, and I… I. have. none."

Batman stood silently for a moment, saying nothing, and then he frowned.

"Then why did you go mad?" He asked. "Why was your reaction to the abuse you suffered to lose your mind? You _ran away_ from your pain Joker. You hid from it. You pretended it didn't exist by repressing it in your mind. That doesn't seem so very brave to me."

The Joker threw his head back then and laughed loudly.

"You keep referring to this past of mine." He managed. "It must be something grand you've found, for you to cling to it so. But you fail to grasp the point. This isn't about bravery. Bravery is not defined by a lack of fear. It in fact is predicated on fear's presence; on it being _powerfully_ present. Those thought brave are those who defy their fear, who in its face act anyway. That would be _you _doll." He laughed. "The absence of fear though, that's something else entirely. That's _me_. _I. don't. care_. What don't you understand? Nothing matters, nothings of any actual value. And so there's nothing to be fearful _of_. Nothing to worry over. You just haven't learned that yet, despite my best efforts in being your teacher." Again he chuckled.

"Maybe you've convince yourself of that Joker." Batman shot back. "But if that were so, why were you so determined to get revenge on Sharp? Why were you so angry about what he'd done to you? It seems that mattered to you very much."

The madman smirked.

"It didn't _matter_. It simply was what I desired. And so I sought it out."

"But you were _angry _Joker. If it didn't matter, it shouldn't have made any difference to you, one way or the other."

"I wasn't angry at all." The Joker said. "I simply wanted _very much_ to repay the doctor in kind. I _do_ what I want."

Batman remained silent.

The Joker frowned then.

"I'm talking big picture sweetheart." He continued. "To have fun is something I prefer, only because I see no other constructive use of what menial time we have. But I'm under no sort of delusion that one thing or another is ever right or wrong. Everything just _is_. I do what I find pleasure in. I don't question it, or agonize over whether what I'm feeling is good or bad, socially accepted or considered taboo. If I like it, I do it. If I don't like it, I stop. I wasn't angry. Anger is an emotion which requires one to feel as though they've been wronged. I_ wasn't _wronged. I hadn't enjoyed myself while in Arkham last time out, is all, and I want _always_ to enjoy myself." He laughed sharply then. "I wanted only to make up for time lost. And I'd say I did. I had _such _fun with the Warden."

"If it didn't matter, you shouldn't have felt anything." Batman reiterated, growing impatient and annoyed.

"Oh, but I _live_ by feel darling." The Joker only smiled. "Whatever strikes my fancy at any given time. But you're already well aware of that fact." He giggled. "I felt _mad_ with burning desire to cut old Sharpie to itsy, bitsy pieces. And as you can see, I lived out my fantasy quite well." He gestured towards the ex-Warden.

Batman said nothing, feeling his gut tighten in hatred and disgust.

"You know what your problem is Batsy?" The lunatic asked suddenly. "You think too much. That's your problem. You worry and wonder and question, and you try to _control, control, control_. And you never enjoy a thing. No wonder you never smile."

"You're in denial." The vigilante spit. "You _want_. And even if what you want is entirely trivial, it still means it _matters_ enough to you _to_ want it."

The madman's expression flickered in to annoyance suddenly.

"_You're_ the one in denial!" He said. "You can't just accept things as they are. You have to try and fit them and explain them and apply meaning where there is none. And you have to do that because…" He grinned, the smile wide and malicious. "because you can't cope with the reality that your parent's died for nothing. There was no greater purpose behind it. No reason. It just happened. Random, indiscriminant, purposeless. Just like their lives."

Batman's face contorted rapidly to a scowl of hate, his fists clenching in sudden and immediate rage, his heart thundering in his chest as the greatest anger he'd ever known consumed him whole and his eyes filled with visions of chocking the life from the man before him.

He was beyond words.

And in an instant, he was on The Joker, latching hold to his arm and pulling him forward and off the ground. He backhanded him across the face, then back again the other way, so hard the lunatic's lip split immediately wide and his teeth cut the inside of his mouth. And then he shoved him to the ground again, and was on the madman too quickly for him to move, grabbing each of his wrists in his hands and pinning them to the floor, hard, above his head.

And then he spread The Joker's legs out with his knees, hooking his own feet along the madman's ankles, his shins pressed atop the thinner man's so that he was now completely spread out, unable to move.

He leaned in close.

"I could kill you so easily." He whispered, inches from The Joker's face. Then he looked down, over the lunatic's body. "You're so weak. So frail and vulnerable. I could snap you like a twig." Suddenly his grip tightened on The Joker's wrists, painfully. A little more pressure and they would break. "Try moving." Batman said, and then he smiled faintly. "Try getting free of this trap."

The Joker could feel the heaviness of Batman on top of him, could feel the strength of his hands as they held his arms firmly flat against the floor, his legs trapped just the same, and he knew there was no way he could pull free.

He didn't try. Only stared, unflinching, in to the vigilante's face.

"How does it feel Joker?" Batman went on. "To be so totally powerless?"

"It feels great." The Joker answered, smiling, blood dried along his nostrils and freshly dripping from his lower lip. "You can have me any way you like." And his smile grew.

Everything went quiet for a moment then.

Calm.

"That's why you were crying, wasn't it?" Batman suddenly asked in realization. "Back in the cave."

The Joker chortled.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You really think, somewhere in that deranged mind of yours, you really think we _belong_ together. That somehow we're _made_ for each other. And you couldn't take it when I pushed you away, could you? That really _hurt_ you, didn't it?"

The smile at once disappeared from The Joker's face. And then he _did_ try to move, trying first to lift his arms and then to pull away. But Batman held him with a vicious strength, holding him easily in place. And it surprised the crusader just how weak the madman felt, what little he really could do against him.

"Let me up." The Joker hissed, his voice low, and Batman detected just the slightest waver in it.

And then the vigilante smirked, leaning back just slightly.

"I know something which matters to you." He said. "Something you couldn't ever bare losing."

And then he leaned down close again, once more inches from The Joker's face.

"Me." He whispered.

The Joker said nothing, his eyes simply wide with anger, and then he tried again to pull away, more fiercely but with the same results.

"It must be truly difficult." Bruce went on, continuing to restrain the lunatic. "To be so alone and then to think you've found the one person who would accept you, understand you, maybe even _care_ for you, only to be so thoroughly rejected. That must have really hurt. But I'll tell you something, _Anthony_, you've only got yourself to blame. What made you think I would ever feel anything but repulsion for you or see you as anything more then the lost, pathetic child you are? I only wanted to help you because it's my _duty _to help others. You're right. I'd love to kill you. I don't only because I don't want to live with the knowledge that I took a life. It's got nothing to do with _you_ or some ridiculous, non-existent connection you've dreamed up between us, or because I _need_ you. I _don't_. I feel nothing for you. _Nothing_. How many times do I have to beat you to hell before you understand that?"

That was a lie, and he knew it.

But Batman allowed himself a feeling of satisfaction nonetheless as The Joker's expression morphed from rage, to shock, and as quickly, surprisingly, to devastation. His mouth turned dramatically down, his brows knotting together. He looked truly pained. And then he looked away and tried, one last time, to push the vigilante off, the effort frail.

"Let me go." He said, his voice strained and soft and Bruce could have sworn he sounded on the verge of tears.

The crusader stared, not releasing his hold.

"Please…" The Joker pleaded and Batman felt sure this time the madman _was_ going to cry. "Please let me up. I promise I'll be good."

The words shocked him completely. He hadn't been expecting that at all and without even realizing it, he'd loosened his grip and then let go completely, leaning back and off of the lunatic.

The Joker rolled to his side once the vigilante had freed him, then to his hands and knees.

From there he stood slowly, and his back was to the detective.

And then he began to walk away, his movement stinted, fragile.

And Bruce wasn't even sure why he didn't move to stop him. He just felt sure in his feeling that the maniac wasn't really going anywhere.

Halfway across the room and The Joker abruptly stopped, and Batman heard him inhale a sharp breath before he brought his hands to his head, digging his fingers painfully in to his scalp.

He gasped out suddenly, his voice wavering.

"Oh God…"

And then, without warning, he fell hard to his knees, his hands still in his hair. "Oh God, help me…"


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20:**

Batman waited for him to move, to make some further sound, but The Joker just sat there, on his knees, gripping his head. And the vigilante could see he was gripping it _hard_. Hard enough to draw blood, he was certain.

He moved himself then, standing, making his way slowly towards the madman. He had to be careful, knowing it could be a ruse.

But as he got closer, he could see The Joker was trembling, even if only slightly and he realized something was very wrong.

He reached out a hand, gently touching it to his enemy's shoulder.

The reaction he got was sudden and sad.

"Oh God…" The Joker chocked out and then he fell forward on to his hands and began to crawl away. "Please… please…" He mumbled softly.

He was having a flashback, Bruce was sure of it.

"Don't… Don't do this, please…"

The crusader breathed in deeply, wondering to himself whether he should address The Joker by his real name, then quickly deciding he should. He wasn't talking to The Joker now, he reasoned, he was talking to the boy from the surveillance footage.

He let the breath go and then spoke.

"Anthony, listen to me. I'm not going to hurt you." He said, his voice calm, soft. "I want to help you."

"No…" The Joker sputtered, his voice unsteady, and he was still turned away. "Please. I… I d-don't want to. I can't…"

"Anthony, listen…" Batman moved towards him. "I'm not who you think I am. I'm not the doctor. I'm a…" He hesitated to say the words, but quickly convinced himself it was only in service of his duties, not because he actually meant it. "I'm a friend."

He reached out, again touching The Joker's shoulder, and this time the reaction was violent, the madman spinning around and falling back on his haunches.

"N-no!" He stammered. "Y-you keep saying that! You keep _wording_ it like that! L-like it's for my own good. But it doesn't f-feel good. It… it-it hu-hurts." The Joker was beginning to stutter heavily, as though his mouth had gone completely dry and he couldn't form the words properly. His eyes were wide, but not wild like usual. They were filled with fear and pain.

Batman swallowed hard.

How could he convince him he wasn't the doctor who had kidnapped him all those years ago?

"Anthony, please, you have to believe me. I'm not who you think I am. Look. Look at my face. Do I look like him?"

The Joker starred back, his expression not changing.

"Y-you're trying to t-trick me again." He said.

"No." Bruce shook his head.

And his mind began to wonder at what The Joker was imagining, what he was remembering. All of the surveillance footage he'd watched had been of either experimentations being conducted on the boy or of the orderlies punishing him for not fully cooperating.

But The Joker had been imprisoned there for nearly a year, and there had only been about 15 hours of tape.

God only knew what had gone on there in between the documented accounts.

"Anthony, what do you think I'm going to do to you?" He dared to ask.

"Please, j-just let me alone… I… I-I'll be g-good next time. I won't fight…"

"Fight what Anthony?" Batman asked, making sure to keep his voice even and calm, reassuring.

"Y-y-your t-tests." The Joker sputtered. "Please. I k-know they're to h-help people. I know that now. I'll do whatever you want. Just p-please, n-no m-more… no…"

"No more of what Anthony?" Bruce asked. He had to know what The Joker was talking about.

The madman's eyes darted frantically around the room then, as though he were looking for something.

"What don't you want me to do?" The vigilante pressed.

The Joker brought his eyes back to him then, still wide with fear, saying nothing.

"Anthony…" The detective again stepped closer, reaching his hand out.

"Oh God…" The Joker pushed back, and then Batman noticed his eyes were glistening, and as quickly as he'd seen it, a tear fell suddenly down the lunatic's cheek, first his right, then his left. And Bruce remained frozen.

"I-I can…" The Joker stammered. "I can do it m-myself." And his voice held a sudden note of resignation, like he'd given up.

Without warning then, he began to loosen the ribbon tie from around his neck and pull it from his collar before dropping it on the ground. From there he slid his waist coat from his shoulders, similarly dispensing it on the floor before moving his hands to the buttons on his shirt.

Batman realized all too quickly what he was doing.

"Anthony, stop!" He said, reaching out and taking hold of The Joker's wrist.

The madman flinched upon the contact, shrinking away.

"I c-can do it mys-self." Again he stuttered. "Y-you don't need th-them. See? I c-can do it."

He started to undo the buttons of his shirt with his free hand and Batman quickly took hold of his other wrist, now holding him in place.

"Anthony, _stop it_!" He barked, his voice a little louder and The Joker looked away, focusing his gaze to the floor.

The vigilante felt suddenly sick, overcome with dread at an abrupt realization.

"Anthony, I don't…" He breathed deep. "I don't want you to do that. Okay? Just stop."

He felt The Joker's arms go limp in his hands and he knew he could let go. So he did.

The madman stayed in the same position. He wouldn't look away from the floor, and still tears fell silently from his eyes.

"Jesus…" Bruce mumbled, looking away.

He didn't know how long this episode was going to last, but already it seemed deeper then the first time he'd seen it happen, as though it had more of a hold on the lunatic.

"Stay there." He said, standing fully.

He glanced back over to where the ex-Warden lay, looking quickly away again and then back to The Joker, and he couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe the mess of a man, more like a child, crying and afraid on the floor, had done _that_.

He needed to inform the Commissioner that he'd found Sharp. He needed to tell him what happened.

So he called him, and told him the location.

And then he told him The Joker hadn't been there.

And then hung up.

///

This was _insane_.

He'd told The Joker they had to go, reaching his hand out to him. And when The Joker had looked up at him with those desperate, scared eyes, he remembered he wasn't talking to _The Joker_. He was talking to another person entirely. No longer a predator. He was talking to a victim.

"Where are you taking me?" He asked, his voice distrustful, matching his expression.

"Someplace safe." Batman answered, and he remembered the last time he had said that to The Joker the lunatic had laughed in his face.

This time he instead recoiled, shaking his head.

Batman sighed, bending down so that he was eye level with the madman.

They didn't have much time.

"Anthony, you _have_ to listen to me." He began. "I'm _not_ who you think I am. You aren't where you think you are. Look around you. Look at _me_. I'm here to help you. I'm not going to hurt you."

He didn't want to have to, but if The Joker refused to cooperate, he wouldn't hesitate to subdue and take him by force, if need be. He knew to do so was risky. If he had to hurt The Joker, it would give him even less reason to trust him then he already did, and he might not ever be able to help him then.

And of course, there was the issue of him suddenly snapping out of his regression, back to who he actually was. And it _would_ happen. Eventually. It could happen any moment, if Bruce was being honest with himself. And when it did, he'd have his hands even more full.

Like he'd thought, insane.

He couldn't even explain why he was doing this. Any other time he would have taken The Joker out and left him for the police, or taken him back to Arkham personally. But this was different. He'd learned more about the madman in the last few weeks then he had in the whole 14 years since their first encounter. And he felt, somehow, he now had a responsibility for The Joker, more so then he'd felt before. Like it was his obligation and his alone to help him. Like no one else could or should handle the task.

But he didn't even want to think about how he was going to explain this to Alfred.

He couldn't even explain to himselfwhy he _wanted_ to help the maniac.

He'd wanted to kill him when he came here tonight.

"Come on." He said again. "We don't have much time."

He could tell by the look in The Joker's eyes that he wasn't comprehending what he was saying. He still thought he was the doctor from the footage.

"No, please…" He breathed shakily, pushing away.

This was bad. He was going to have to physically force The Joker to come with him if he didn't go willingly. And in sharp contrast to only a few minutes before, he really had no desire to hurt the madman right now.

"Anthony, please. We have to go. If we don't I won't be able to help you."

The Joker just shook his head again, suddenly bringing his hands to his head and curling in on himself, as though in a defensive shell. Batman recalled seeing him take the same position several times throughout the surveillance footage he'd watched.

He sighed heavily.

"Damn it…" He mumbled.

He was going to have to take him.

Slowly he reached out, taking gentle hold of The Joker's arms.

"Anthony…" He spoke as softly as he could.

And the madman just kept shaking his head no.

Finally the vigilante lost his patience.

"We have to go _now_." He said, tightening his grip and pulling the thin man up.

The Joker lost it then, began flailing madly.

"NO!" He screamed. "NO! LET ME GO!"

He struggled violently, trying with everything he had to escape Batman's grasp.

The crusader ground his teeth, pulling the lunatic towards him, wrapping one arm around his back, pressing him hard against his own body while the other hand reached in to one of his belt compartments.

"Stop!" He hissed as he felt The Joker push against him, trying to break free. But the maniac wasn't listening. Just kept fighting.

Bruce huffed out heavily through his nose, finally getting between his fingers what he was searching for.

A cloth soaked in chloroform.

He hated using these things, and only ever did when dealing with the likes of The Joker. Individuals who never came quietly. People who, if given the chance, would as likely hurt themselves as you.

So he kept them on hand.

And he never needed one more then he did now.

Leaning back slightly, he struggled to hold The Joker in place as he lifted his free arm in front of him.

The Joker's own arms were pushing and hitting against him wildly, and Bruce had to move his head back to keep the madman from scratching his face.

In an instant he'd pressed the rag against The Joker's nose and mouth, and when the lunatic tried to jerk away Batman grabbed the back of his head and pressed him in to it.

The thin man tried desperately then to break free, grabbing hold of the vigilantes arm, trying to pull his hand from his face. It was utterly in vain. Batman was just too strong, holding him with little effort, beginning to force him to the ground as he kept him immobile.

And as the struggle lessened, as the chemical began to take effect and The Joker's muffled whimpers floated past the cloth, Bruce felt suddenly horrible at the sight, and at what he was doing. Like he was overpowering a little boy instead of a man. Like he was taking advantage of someone who couldn't at all defend themselves.

And he supposed, as he currently was, as _Anthony_, that was true.

He wasn't The Joker right now. The Joker could have defended himself with exceptional brutality. He knew all the tricks.

Not Anthony.

He didn't know how to fight.

He wouldn't learn that until later…

It was bizarre… and sad.

And when the struggling finally ceased all together and Batman held The Joker's limp body in his hands, looking vulnerable and weak, he wanted to scream in frustration.

///

When he woke, it was with a crushing headache and no recollection of what had happened. Not unusual, he knew. But usually it would begin to come back in fragments. This time, nothing. Totally blank. And as he sat up, he felt an overwhelming wave of dizziness which actually forced him back down.

"You're awake." He heard a gruff voice and turned his head. A blurred vision of Batman came in to sight and again he tried to sit up, more slowly. But still the dizziness kept him down.

"Are you The Joker? Or are you Anthony?" He heard Batman's voice again.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, the bright light of the room hurting his eyes.

"What… the hell did you do to me Batsy?" He croaked out, his voice sounding weak.

"The Joker then. Alright." Batman said. "I knocked you out with chloroform and then I gave you a heavy sedative after you woke up screaming. You've been out for almost 24 hours."

The Joker looked at him then, his eyes narrowed against the invasive light as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Right." He said, forcing himself to sit up this time. "And you mind telling me _why_ I don't recall _any_ of that?"

The vigilante shifted, his expression uncomfortable.

"You…" He began, hesitating. "You had another episode. Some sort of flashback recollection which made you… which made you revert back to… to who you used to be."

The Joker sighed loudly, rolling his eyes.

He was actually surprised to find himself unrestrained and swung his legs around to dangle off of the cot he was on.

"Back to that again, are we dear?" He said mockingly. "Are you sure you didn't just knock me so senseless that I actually lost my memory?" He laughed. "What I _do_ recall is making you angry. _Very _angry." He grinned as though proud of the fact.

"You did that too Joker." Batman said, his tone flat. "But I didn't knock you senseless, as I'm sure you'd like to believe. I said something, and I think it triggered a response in you, caused you to recollect your past."

Bruce had thought about it on the ride back to the cave, about how he'd called The Joker Anthony, and then told him he was a pathetic child. And he realized it was his saying those words which had caused the madman to revert backwards.

He'd heard the doctor from the tapes say almost exactly the same thing to the boy, over and over. Telling him he was pathetic and disgusting. A useless child, incapable of taking care of himself. Anthony had been told repeatedly that he needed the doctors care to survive, to make it. That without the doctor, he was totally unable.

"Mmmhmm." The Joker replied. And then he diverted his gaze to go around the room. "Ohh, back _here_ again?" He whined. "Why aren't I back in Arkham? I'd thought surely after seeing what I'd done to dear old Sharpie you'd want me back behind bars as soon as possible. You already know I can escape this place."

"Not this time Joker." Batman answered. "I've had new lock mechanisms put in place. Ones even _you _can't pick. There's no access to the outside from within. Even I can't get out of here. I've got Alfred waiting outside, ready to let me out when I'm done here."

The Joker looked thoroughly unimpressed, almost bored as Batman told him this.

"You'll pay for what you've done Joker. But under _my_ watch. You won't be getting out to hurt anyone else."

"Says you." The Joker mumbled, looking around.

In a flash the crusader was up, taking the madman by his collar and jerking him forward.

"I'm not playing games Joker!" He hissed. "You're my prisoner and you _won't _escape again. You're here so I can _help_ you."

The lunatic retained his unmoved expression, brining his eyes back to Batman's.

"How touching." He said, grabbing hold of the crusaders gauntleted wrists. "Now let go."

Bruce stared at him hard for a moment before shoving him back down and stepping away, taking his seat again.

"You're severely messed up Joker." He said. "You don't remember anything of what happened to you. You're mind's repressed it completely. Now I don't know how long these black out periods have been happening to you, or how frequently. But it seems to me that they're occurring more often, and maybe with greater intensity. You _need_ help. _Real_ help. And I'm going to give it to you."

"Oh for Christ's sake, would you _stop_ it?" The Joker said, clear exasperation in his voice. "Alright. _Fine_. I _don't _remember my past. I don't know who I was. And I don't _care _either! What's it going to take to make you realize I don't _want_ to know! It's completely irrelevant to who I am anyway! I always would have turned out this way, regardless of what happened to me! _Whatever_ it was. The same as you! You think you _needed_ your parents to be shot to become the _Batman_! Don't make me laugh! That was just your _excuse_! And now you want to force one on me! But I don't _need_ an excuse. I'm perfectly content with who and what I am!"

Batman sat silently for a moment before standing abruptly.

Walking fast towards The Joker, he quickly backhanded him, hard across the face, turning his head completely to the side.

"Mention my parents _one more time_, and I'll make sure you _never _walk again." He said, his voice low and quiet. "Do I make myself clear?"

The Joker turned towards him again, the back of his hand held against his mouth. He pulled it away, glancing at it, seeing his own blood against the white skin, before brining his eyes back to the crusader.

"Perfectly." He answered, his tone bitter.

The vigilante glared for a moment before turning and walking to the other side of the room.

"You don't believe me." He said. "About your past. But I'll show you. You were an innocent once. But you've been corrupted by the cruelty of others."

He looked down, closing his eyes. And if The Joker's reactions to him back at the factory were any indication, greater cruelties then he'd seen on those tapes even or heard about from others who once knew the boy in them.

"You're living nothing but a tortured existence now. Whether you want to admit to that or not, it's true. Making you remember is the first step towards recovery." He went on, looking back up. He turned to the madman then. "I'm _going_ to cure you. No matter if you want my help or not, you're getting it. And if it works, you'll be grateful in the end"

The Joker's expression shifted in to a hateful scowl, his eyes ablaze with sudden fury.

"You _dare_!" He spit in astonishment. "You dare talk to me _this_ way! To make such _assumptions_!"

Bruce was sure the lunatic was going to attack him then, the way he gripped the cot sheets between his hands, the way his body tensed like a coiled spring.

But he just sat there, his gaze piercing and mad.

"You can have your _cure_!" The Joker went on, enraged. "I need no such _treatment_! There's _nothing_ wrong with me! I'm _perfect_ as is! You however…" He laughed bitterly. "You require help of the extreme kind, in the department of self-esteem, _dear_. I've yet to encounter another so _distraught_ by themselves as you are! Like I said once before, wallowing in your own self-pity and disgust! You direct your dark desires in to something which allows them to be justified. In to something which others then deem acceptable. Even _applaud_! But no mistake, _Bruce_, the inclinations are still base, still in essence a generally _frowned_ upon craving. You pine for the pain of others, and to exert your dominance upon whoever doesn't concede with your uniformed view of _justice_. So spare me your sympathy when it's really _you_ who evokes _pity_."

In a flash Batman was on The Joker, lifting him up and slamming his back hard against the concrete wall.

"ENOUGH!" He raged, pressing his forearm against the madman's throat, causing him to gag out. "I'LL LISTEN TO NO MORE OF YOUR LIES!"

When it became obvious The Joker was losing air to his lungs, his eyes beginning to roll up in to his head, the vigilante released him, letting him fall back on to the cot.

The Joker hacked and coughed on reflex, sucking air sharply as he doubled over.

Batman eyed him with apparent indifference for a moment before turning away, towards the cell's exit.

"I'll be back in a few hours with food." He said coldly, even as he heard the lunatic continue to struggle for breath.

And then there was a click, the door's locks coming undone. And the crusader reached for the handle, pulling it wide, stepping out and letting it shut loud behind him, the locks moving automatically back in to place.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21:**

As soon as he'd exited the cell he moved quickly to the security monitor and saw that The Joker had immediately moved from the cot and was at the door, looking it over, obviously trying to find some point of weakness.

He wouldn't and both Bruce and Alfred waited for the inevitable explosion of frustration that would come once he'd figured that out.

And he figured it out fast, turning from the door suddenly and striding fast across the room, going from one corner to another, spending only seconds at each before moving to the next.

When nothing within the room or along its corners and walls proved useful, The Joker went to the spaces center and looked up to it's ceiling, turning in a 360 degree circle to see the entire surface.

"No grating this time Joker." Batman said aloud, though the lunatic couldn't hear him.

"I should say Sir, you were rather astute in predicting what the madman would attempt, and it would appear you've successfully eliminated all threat of him utilizing any part of the cell as a weapon."

Bruce nodded.

"Yeah, well, last time he hit me over the head with the grate from the ventilation system, so we couldn't have that again. I still can't believe how he got it off of there."

"When one has such little regard for their own well being Master Bruce, they should be considered capable of anything I suppose."

Again Bruce nodded.

He'd had the cell's ventilation system switched out to one which didn't require any sort of cover or grate, so The Joker wouldn't be able to pry it loose and use it as a weapon.

When The Joker saw there was nothing for him to have along the ceiling he tore his gaze from it, again bringing it about the room before beginning to pace frantically, back and forth.

He continued like this for some minutes before tearing off towards the cot, where he grabbed hold of the mattress and attempted to tear it apart.

"He's hoping to find springs inside." Bruce noted. "But the mattress is all foam. And anyway, he won't be able to break it apart as is."

Alfred only nodded, watching in apparent fascination.

With the cot yielding no results, The Joker turned from it and practically ran to the center of the room, where he then collapsed on to his knees, gripping his head between his hands.

And then he began to scream, the sound broken and uninhibited.

"Oh my…" Alfred said. "He's quite mad, is he not?"

"He'll calm down, once he realizes his little temper tantrum isn't drawing anyone's attention."

"Indeed Sir. But what if begins to _hurt_ himself? He's shown himself quite willing, if I recall correctly."

"If he does that, I'll just put him under. And I'll keep doing it until he gets the picture." Batman replied. "Unless he wants to be in a perpetual state of waking up groggy and confused, then he'll keep himself healthy."

"Ah." Alfred nodded.

Abruptly the madman looked up from where he'd fallen, and his eyes seemed to pinpoint right on them, as though he were looking at them.

"He can't see us can he?" Alfred asked, clearly unnerved.

"No." Batman answered, though he himself was taken aback. There was no way The Joker would be able to know where the camera was, considering it was positioned behind a wall, with an opening too small to detect.

They sat in silence for a long moment, just starring as the lunatic seemed to stare back.

"I should hope there isn't any chance he may again escape." Alfred said aloud, seemingly to himself more then to anyone else.

"He won't." Bruce was fast to reply. "That cell is foolproof. He could be the world's greatest escape artist. It doesn't matter. There's simply no way out of that cell from within."

"Yes Sir, I understand that. I'm speaking more in terms of him _fighting_ his way out."

The crusader went silent for a moment before finally shaking his head.

"No." He said. "The Joker is a very capable _street_ fighter. He knows all the tricks. But there's no structure there. No discipline. He isn't _trained_, not by any stretch of the imagination. He may be capable of taking out any average man, but he's got no chance against someone like me. Not without a weapon or some sort of strategic advantage. And there's absolutely _nothing_ in that room he could use. And he _won't_ be getting past me out in to here."

"Very good then Sir." The older man gave a nod. "And for how _long_ do we intend on keeping our guest again?"

Bruce huffed. Alfred had asked him the same question earlier yesterday, when he'd shown up with an unconscious Joker slung over his shoulder. He hadn't given him any specific answers then, and he wouldn't now, because he honestly didn't know.

The older man had been less then pleased with his having brought the madman back, but as always, while letting his disagreeance be known, he also was fully supportive and ready to assist. So far, all he'd had Alfred do was remove The Joker's shoes and socks, along with his suspender straps. Anything that could be used as a potential weapon. And then he'd had him prepare the cells cot. But that was it.

Alfred had commented on how utterly bizarre it was that, when unconscious, The Joker looked completely harmless, vulnerable even, and what a remarkable contrast that was to when he was awake, and seemed the most menacing being ever to be.

Batman had nodded, saying he'd been struck by the same realization many times, and had never quite gotten used to it.

"I don't know." He finally answered. "However long it takes."

"May I ask what it is that's so suddenly made you feel you can _cure_ him Master Bruce?"

The vigilante looked back to the monitor.

The Joker had since looked away, but remained in the same spot, still crouched. It looked as though he now was starring intently at the floor.

Bruce hadn't told Alfred about the surveillance footage he'd found, let alone shown it to him. He wasn't sure why. Again there was that strange possessiveness he felt. As though anyone _else_ knowing about who The Joker had been was wrong.

He knew it was an absurd notion.

"I found something Alfred." He finally breathed, looking away from the screens and at the older man. "Tapes. Like documented sessions. The footage is of him." He nodded his head towards the monitors. "When he was just a boy. 16 at the most. He was being held prisoner by some insane doctor, performing experiments on him." He shook his head. "Completely _horrific_ experiments. Even I had difficulty watching them. The things they did to him…" He paused, looking distant.

Alfred gave him a completely serious expression.

"Was that the cause for our trip to Washington this past month Sir?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.

Bruce nodded.

"I'm sorry I've kept all this from you." He said. "I've learned so much about him. More then I've ever known in the whole time since our first encounter." He looked down. "He's real name's Anthony."

Alfred looked stunned for a moment.

"Really?" He finally managed.

Bruce nodded.

"I can't be sure of exactly how old he was when it happened, but his parent's were killed in a car accident and from there, he'd been moved around to several different orphanages. I don't know what his life was like then, but I can make a pretty good guess. You know the reputation of Gotham's adoption facilities. They're bad. _Today_ they're bad. Rife with political corruption and reported abuses from the staff running them. 20, 25 years ago, about the time The Joker would have been in the system, maybe even 30 years ago, depending on when his parent's were killed, they were _much_ worse."

"Well isn't there some record of him then?" Alfred questioned, naturally.

Bruce shook his head.

"No." He said. "And that's the thing. When he was maybe 8 years old, they finally took notice of his unique mind. You know the "theory" originally posited by Dr. Quinzel? "Super-sanity" she called it."

Alfred gave a nod.

"Indeed I do Sir."

"It's not a product of his falling in to any chemical baths Alfred. His mind had been that way since he was a child. And when the US government found out, they wanted in."

"Oh, I see."

The detective nodded.

"They took him out of the orphanage he was staying in at the time, brought him to DC, started using him to interrogate terrorists and the like."

"An 8 year old boy!" Alfred sounded astonished.

"Yeah. They'd put him in a room with these men, tell them their only requirement was to talk to the boy, about anything, nothing specific. So they thought they were just talking to some regular kid. But The Joker is hyper-perceptive. That's what's truly special about him. And it's only _part_ of what makes him so dangerous. Ever since I've known him, and apparently since he was a child, he's had the ability to see things. Just from the way you talk, your mannerisms, the way you carry yourself, even just the _cloths _you wear, he can tell things about you. Things _no one_ should be capable of gleaning from such a small amount of information. So just by talking to these men, just by talking to them, he very often could pick up on their intentions, even what they secretly had planned, whether they would mention those plans directly or not, just by the things they would say, how they would say them, etcetera. Whether they were lying or telling the truth was the simplest thing for him to determine. And even now he displays this ability. It's the reason, beyond the fact he so often escapes his restraints of course, that the psychiatrists at Arkham are so reluctant to treat him. He _always_ turns the sessions on them. _Always_. They end up being psycho-analyzed instead. And The Joker's the _last_ person you want inside your head. He's absolutely _mean_, and so easily capable of determining your secrets, you desires and fears, your hopes and dreams and nightmares. He's driven people to _kill _themselves for Christ's sake! Just by talking to them. Other inmates, doctors, nurses, orderlies. You name it." He shook his head in disgust at remembering all the instances he'd heard of just those sorts of occurrences. He'd even _seen_ it first hand once.

"But to get back to the main point, they kept him isolated. He wasn't allowed contact with anyone outside of the staff of the facility he was living in. Wasn't allowed off the premises. Wasn't even allowed outside without having someone with him at all times. They erased all record of his ever existing because they didn't want anyone else getting their hands on him. And, as to be expected, he eventually grew tired of it, started requesting different things, and when they refused, then he stopped helping them. Or at least, he tried. They started abusing him, trying to force him to cooperate. Eventually he escaped, lived on the streets of Washington. He hooked up with a local gang. Just a group of kids who mostly hustled people out of cash. The worst they did, according to the man I talked to, was rob some homes in the more upscale parts of town. But nothing violent… He said…" Bruce nearly laughed in astonishment. "The man I talked to said he was… said The Joker was the sweetest kid he'd ever known. That he didn't want to even help them rob anyone."

The look on Alfred's face was one of pure incredulity.

"I find that hard to believe Master Bruce, you'll forgive me."

Bruce shook his head.

"No, believe me, I find it hard to believe myself. But this man I spoke with would have absolutely no reason to lie. He doesn't know the kid he knew is now The Joker. Nobody knows that, except us. The man said The Joker learned how to perform magic tricks from one of the other boys in the group and would stand on street corners, putting on shows."

"Intriguing. I suppose that explains the madman's rather remarkable expertise as a magician then."

Bruce nodded.

"So what exactly happened then which caused him to become so… well, so criminally _inclined_?"

"Washington DC has the second highest crime rate in the country, after Gotham City itself." The crusader answered. "The man said The Joker was very small, so small, he said, that he'd have trouble defending himself. So he was a target for other gangs, someone they looked to pick on. They even got to him once, according to this man. He said a group of 3 men beat him badly when he was caught by himself. He said he and his friends didn't want to let him go anywhere by himself after that, but that he insisted, saying he couldn't make any money for the group if they followed him around. Said people would think it was a hustle then. So they let him alone. And then one day he just disappeared, and they all thought he'd finally been kidnapped and probably killed by a rival gang."

"I presume you know what really became of him then?" Alfred said.

"Yes." Bruce answered. "He _was_ kidnapped off the street. But not by any rival gang. It was the doctor from the footage I told you about. Apparently he'd been keeping tabs on The Joker for years. He knew all about him. His history. His time in the orphanages and government facility, and then on the street. For whatever reason he waited until he was well in to his teens before taking him."

"What purpose did he have for him, may I ask?" Alfred interjected.

"This man was completely insane Alfred." Bruce said seriously. "He said he wanted to _study _The Joker's mind so that he could then _replicate_ it. Apparently his _studies_ involved all manner of torture."

"Dare I ask what _types _of torture The Joker found himself subjected to?"

Batman shook his head.

"All types. Electric shocks. _Sever _electric shocks. Various forms of psychological torture. Supposedly they were trying to gage stress points in his mind, breaking points and so on, measure his brains wave lengths, what kinds of chemicals it would release under certain circumstances and situations, etcetera. The doctor specifically would constantly talk down to him, undermine him and abuse him verbally. They injected him with all kinds of drugs and serums, measuring how his brain and body would react to the chemicals. I'm not even sure what most of them were, but a lot of them had a bad effect on him, making him severely sick, or causing him to convulse. Some even caused him to hallucinate and become intensely paranoid. And then of course there was the physical abuse. The doctor had as part of his "team" two, large men who routinely would beat The Joker up, sometimes when he failed to cooperate, other times it seemed for no reason at all. Just for fun."

"Are you quite sure the young man in the footage is the _same_ person as the one now residing in this caves holding cell?" Alfred cut in, clear disbelief in his voice. "It seems to me The Joker would never allow for anyone to treat him so badly."

"I understand it's hard to believe, but something similar happened to him just recently with Quincy Sharp and his guards at Arkham. The Joker is an intimidating figure. But he's not beyond vulnerability. More importantly, if you saw the footage Alfred, you would understand the boy on the tapes _isn't _the same person as The Joker. Not even. He was just a boy, completely innocent, scared and confused. He had _none _of the confidence of the man you've met. None of the self-assuredness, none of the _malice_. He didn't enjoy pain like he seemingly does now, either in himself or in others. He's wholly unrecognizable except for in his physical appearance, his features and build, and his voice is the same. Everything else is different."

"I see." Alfred said.

"But that's only what's on film Alfred." Bruce said. "The Joker did something… something at the abandoned factory which makes me think… which makes me think he may also have been sexually abused."

Alfred's eyebrows rose in shock.

"He was imprisoned there for nearly a year before he escaped." Bruce said in reply. "Most of that time _isn't_ documented."

"Is The Joker himself aware of all this then?" The older man asked.

Batman shook his head.

"No. He doesn't remember any of it. Not consciously. But he has flashbacks, these black out periods where he reverts back to who he was, back to Anthony, and he thinks he's in that laboratory again. It's all buried there, in his mind. But when he snaps out of it, he has no memory of anything. He's subconsciously repressed it."

"And I assume he was having one such flashback when he did whatever it is he did to make you suspect he was, along with everything else, also sexually abused?"

The vigilante nodded.

"And what _did_ he do Master Bruce, if I may be so bold?"

"I was… I was trying to _help_ him, trying to tell him I wasn't going to hurt him, and he kept cringing away from me and begging me not to 'do this', he said. So I asked him what he meant, and then he kept looking around the room like he thought someone else was there. And when I kept coming towards him, trying to show him I meant him no harm, he suddenly started to… to take his cloths off and started mumbling something about how he could do it himself, saying I didn't need 'them' to help."

"Oh dear…" Alfred remarked. "And I gather he didn't recognize you."

"No." Bruce shook his head. "He thought I was the doctor from the tapes."

"What did you do?"

"I grabbed his arms and told him to stop." Batman answered.

"And his reaction? Did he snap out of it?"

Bruce shook his head. "He just sort of went limp and looked away. He was completely afraid. When he's himself, when he's _The Joker_, he isn't afraid of anything. Least of all me."

"How dreadful." Alfred said, looking back to the monitors. "It almost makes one feel badly for the man."

"Well certainly his life's been anything but easy." Batman said. "It isn't an excuse for what he's become or what he's done, but it emphasizes the fact that he _needs_ help."

"Well I suppose with everything you've told me, it would be rather a shock if he _hadn't _turned out the way he has." Alfred mused.

Bruce went silent then, remembering how he'd held The Joker down, back at the factory, and told him, essentially, that he was weak for having lost it. And now here Alfred was, his most trusted and loyal friend, saying essentially the opposite.

He wasn't sure how to react to that. So he said nothing at all.

"If I can help him remember, then maybe I can rehabilitate him. And maybe fill in some of the gaps which still remain about him and how he came to be. Everything with him gets fuzzy after he escaped the doctor. There isn't much information at all. I still don't know how he came to don the red hood even."

"A word of caution Sir." Alfred said. "Though you are a man expert in many things, extraordinary in a great many fields, more then any other man I've ever known even, I feel it is my duty to point out that psychiatry is not among them. You should be sure to tread carefully in this endeavor. The Joker is clearly a deeply _troubled_ individual, and any badgering him over the head might result in the opposite of whatever results you intended."

"I know that Alfred." Batman said, his tone annoyed. "You don't need to tell me to be careful!"

"I'm only saying that you should know your limits Sir."

The crusader breathed out heavily.

"I don't have time for this!" He insisted. "I have to meet with Gordon."

"And tell him of your active pursuit in gleaning The Joker's whereabouts?" Alfred remarked sarcastically.

Batman stood abruptly, turning, his cape swirling behind him.

"I'll be back in a few hours." He said, his tone flat. "Don't, under _any_ circumstance, go near or enter The Joker's cell. In fact, I'd prefer for you to leave the premises all together."

"You said yourself Sir that the room is inescapable." Alfred countered.

"I _know_ what I said. I'd just rather be safe then sorry."

"I understand Master Bruce. But if it's just the same, I'd rather _stay_."

"Fine." Bruce answered. "But remember, stay _away_ from his cell."

"As you wish Sir."

/

Alfred was entirely displeased by the time Bruce had pulled out of the cave and left him there alone. He couldn't help but feel the vigilante was acting rashly and not putting as great an amount of thought in to his most recent decisions as was characteristic of him. He felt Bruce was acting on emotion, more then rational.

He shook his head, looking to the security monitors, starring with fascination at the man inside the holding cell. The Joker had since moved to the room's cot and was now sitting on it, cross legged. He still was finding it almost impossible to associate what the master had told him of The Joker's past with the lunatic he'd so far encountered. He couldn't really imagine the madman as ever having been a child, let alone any sort of innocent taken advantage of and abused.

He just prayed Bruce was right and that the information he'd found was legitimate, that he wasn't being duped by some elaborate scheme of the maniacs. He himself certainly wouldn't put it past The Joker, not after everything he'd seen of him.

"What are you doing to my son?" He asked aloud, absentmindedly, starring at the screen.

And as if in answer, The Joker suddenly began to speak.

"Is Batsy still there? Or has he left; run off to attend his so called _duties_?"

Alfred started, looking wide eyed at the image.

"Well, I suppose I'll find out soon enough as is." The Joker continued, looking straight ahead. "He'll no doubt come storming in, ready to reduce me to so much dust if he finds me talking to _you_." He paused. "Of course, assuming you yourself are there, _Alfred_."

The older man felt his chest tighten in alarm then and he leaned back slightly, glancing quickly towards the cell across the cave and then back to the monitor.

"I may very well be speaking to myself." The Joker went on. "But hey, I'm crazy, right?" He laughed. "So any sort of like behavior shouldn't be thought unusual. Dare I say, _expected _even? Well anyway, if I know you Alfie, and I _do_, you're probably at this juncture wondering exhaustedly over what ever is the matter with Brucie-Boy, pondering without respite over his decision to again bring _me_ here, questioning no doubt the soundness of such a decision. And you're right to do so old man. You're boy, after all, and I'm sorry to say this, truly, is in need, _severely _in need, of intervention. He's quite delusional, you know. You see, he harbors a great many, supposedly sociopathic, frowned upon tendencies, which he plays out every night… out there, on Gotham's so-called criminal element. He takes his feelings of rage and confusion and hatred, and he lets them out on those he considers _deserving_. It's how he makes himself feel better. You see, Bat-boy secretly _hates_ himself for having those feelings. He thinks it's _wrong_. The only way for him to deal, then, it to find some form of justification, which conveniently, others have deemed acceptable. Oh, you should _see_ him Alfie! He takes great _pleasure_ in his work! In inflicting pain on to others. But he's chosen who he attacks so _very_ carefully. The _dregs_ of society, at they've been labeled. Those unfortunate souls uncared for and even scorned by the general populace. So instead of inviting their scorn and scrutiny, he elicits their applause! Very clever, our Bat is. He's fooled them, as I'm sure he's fooled you, in to believing he does it all out of some unshakable drive to see justice done. To prevent from ever happening again what happened to him as a boy. But no… no, that's not the _real_ reason. Though he's so deluded, he's probably convinced himself it is. He just likes to hurt, plain and simple, to dominate. To experience that feeling of euphoria which bursts through his veins with the knowledge of being more powerful then everyone else, of being stronger and faster, and _smarter_. Oh, oh, oh Alfie, I just _know_ this is hard for you to hear! And you're doubtless right now trying to convince yourself it isn't true! That what you're hearing is nothing more then the ramblings of a deranged psychopath, playing games of manipulation. Sadly however, no. I'm completely serious. You want to know _how_ I know this deep, dark secret dear old Brucie would like nothing more then to keep hidden away? Well, I'll tell you. When you've been engaged in as many physical fights with the lad as I have, it becomes painfully apparent, to be honest. Though I could tell this about him since when we first met." He laughed. "You see, he _keeps_. _hitting_. Over and over. Even when you've absolutely no chance of fighting back. Even when you've been rendered _unconscious_, he continues to lay it on, nice. and. thick. Of course, for those with an eye more keen, the evidence lies more so even in the look in his eyes, and the way his mouth curls every so subtly to a smirk. He _loves_ it. Not that I have a problem with that. As well you know, I myself enjoy similar fair. But what I absolutely cannot _stand_ is how _vehemently_ he denies it. It makes me ill, quite frankly. And not many things these days do that." Again he laughed.

And then suddenly he stood, and began pacing around the room, gesturing wildly.

"Doesn't he _understand_!" He said, his voice rising, sounding suddenly angry. "I only wish to _help_ him! He's completely blind! He thinks I want to hurt him! That I want to take away everything supposedly good in his life. But he's a fool! I don't want to do that! If I did…" He stopped, shaking his head, scoffing. "If I did, there's so much worse I'm capable of. He doesn't even _know _how angry I could make him, really. I could push him to kill me in an _instant_. Destroy the imaginary barrier which he thinks keeps us apart. The one he thinks his _will power_ holds in place, heh. I hold back only because I know he isn't ready to accept that he's capable of all the things I am, that the very nature that resides in me resides in him also. He might kill himself if I push him over the edge now. And then what good will I have been to him? _None_, that's what!" He threw his hands up. "Everything I've ever done to him was only done in an attempt to show him how meaningless it all is! Nothing has any unacceptable consequence in the universe. No action is wrong. He's utterly despondent because he _knows_ this, deep down he does, but he can't accept it! He fights against it with every ounce of his being. But he never can win against what's inevitable. Until he learns that, he'll never be happy. I only want…" He stopped moving then, slumping against the wall. "I only want him to be happy."

And then he went silent, completely, sliding to a sitting position, saying nothing more.

Alfred breathed in sharply. He couldn't believe the rant the lunatic had just gone on! Or the fact that he'd been speaking to _him_! Worse still had been the things he said. Alfred knew Master Bruce would be furious, that he would never condone what he was about to do, but he couldn't just sit by and let the madman malign him like that.

Releasing the breath, he reached then for the intercom button, pressing it.

"Begging your pardon, _young man_…" He began, stiffening his voice to a hard edge. "But I will not sit idly by whilst you lambaste and assassinate the character of Master Bruce. You do _not_ know him nearly as well as you fancy, and certainly not near as well as _I _do. I have known the Wayne family for longer then you have been _alive_, and I've known Bruce since the time he was born, before there was any _Batman _or nights of super heroism. _Far_ longer then you. And I can tell you, unequivocally, that you are _wrong_ about him. He is a good and decent man. One so virtuous, in fact, that he has taken it upon himself to lend _you_ a helping hand. And it has to be said, any creature so vile as you yourself are would elicit nothing but _scorn_ from anyone less moralistic. Master Bruce pities you, however, and so, against my own approval, has taken you in, rather then throw you back to the dogs of Arkham, in the hopes that he may _cure _you. I can see, however, that he indeed will have his hands full with the task. You seem _wholly _irredeemable to me, and are quite gruesome, if I say so myself."

The Joker sat through the older man's entire speech with a look of astonishment, and by the end of it, Alfred thought he'd been successful in dashing and discrediting the lunatic's diatribe. But his own hopes were themselves destroyed when, after a few, short seconds of silence, the madman erupted in to hysterics, his head falling back, letting loose a long, loud peal of laughter.

"Oh, that's rich!" He crowed. "That's just _too_ much! I see he's got you fooled, as I suspected! You, heehee, you actually _believe_ that hoopla he's given you about wanting to _cure_ me! Ohh, heehee, that's riotous! It really is!" He wiped at his eyes as tears squeezed from their corners he laughed so hard. "Silly old man! Don't be so _obtuse_! It's nothing but another excuse! He's got me here because he _wants _me here. He wants me _near_ him! And whether he's aware of it or not, it's because I'm the only person in this world he can relate to! Certainly that person isn't you! You crusted up stiff! With your pathetic need to always remain proper! To keep stoic and unaffected! Presenting to the world the gentleman's gentleman!" He laughed sharply. "You're fooling no one Alfie, least of all _me_! I know you're type and I know it well. Let me see… You never could stand the reservation you're culture imposed upon you. And of course you longed to break from it in some way. Doubtless by involving yourself in activities requiring a distinct _lack _of inhibition. I'll just bet you dreamed of a career in the arts, hmm? As an entertainer of some sort? Oh, but you poor boy, you were without the one element necessary to see you through to success, weren't you? And yes, you guessed it. I speak of _talent_, Alfie! You have no talent. Though I'm sure you had an honest go of it, yes? But alas, you saw quickly it was a road which lead to no where, and so you abandoned it. A wise choice, to be sure. But it wasn't enough, was it Alfie? No. You still longed for excitement, adventure! An escape from the mundane existence you'd grown up knowing, coming from a long line of servants, as I'm positive you did. So you probably did what many _young men_ in your position do. Something foolish and brash, like joining the armed forces. Am I right?" He laughed. "Did you join the royal guard, _Alfie_? Well, regardless, _something _happened which led you to realize that _out there_ isn't all roses, hmm? Yes, I'm sure it must have been the _horrors _of war, ha. It made you come running back to the life you'd known. A life of servitude and _control_. You figured it was the _right _way to be then. The only sensible way to be. To rebel against the base behavior inherent in _all_ human beings. To do your best never to display such supposedly _vulgar_, _reprehensible_ behavior, to never succumb to such repulsive desires as those you observed in others… and unquestionably felt yourself." He chuckled. "Oh, but Alfie, my dear, you cannot repress completely whatever is in your nature. You still pine for something exceptional in your life, don't you? Some sort of escape from the normality of it all. I'll just bet you immerse yourself in mystery novels, hmm? And it must _thrill _you inside to play lab assistant to our dark detective, no? Lending out your oh so valuable opinion, helping him to _crack the case_, as it were, heehee. But I know a secret Alfie. Deep down, underneath that _unshakable_ loyalty you so proudly display towards your _master_, beneath your fierce support of his every action, you're jealous. You're jealous of the life he leads, of what you no doubt romanticize to be his great exploits, out on the city street, living the life of a _superhero_, as you put it. And that's also a large part of the reason for your loyalty, is it not? You feel _guilty_ harboring such thoughts, and so try to compensate by standing by his side, no matter his decision. But don't think the resentment you feel whenever he looks to shield you from danger is so well concealed as to be undetectable! I saw it there in you, clear as day, when he pulled you away from me and pushed you behind his body. Oh, poor, _poor _Alfie! How torturous your existence must be! How unsatisfactory."

The room then fell silent, no noise coming from the intercom.

The Joker waited patiently for it to come. And then it did. The sound of the intercom link being cut, and the lunatic exploded in to laughter.

"Oh Alfie, Alfie!" He practically shrieked, his voice pitching higher. "Didn't Batsy _warn _you? You _never _should talk to _me_!"


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22:**

The meeting with Jim _hadn't _gone well.

Bruce absolutely _hated_ lying to the man. He hated it because when he'd told him The Joker was still at large and that he currently was tracking him, the Commissioner hadn't given him a second glance. He believed him, wholeheartedly. He _trusted_ him.

And Batman had just betrayed that trust.

Needless to say, by the time he'd arrived back at the manor, his mood was sour and he'd again begun to question whether what he was doing was the right thing or not.

But Bruce tried never to doubt himself.

Ironic, because he'd told himself he couldn't precisely _because _of The Joker.

He remembered the first few times they'd fought, and how ridiculously confident the clown had been. Even when it turned out he was wrong, or had misjudged a situation, it never seemed to affect him. At all. He'd just laugh it off, his assuredness in himself never shaken.

It was like he knew for absolutely sure he was right, and no matter what, there was no one and nothing that could destroy that belief in himself.

Bruce realized at that time, if he were to have any chance against the likes of someone like that, he was going to have to maintain the same kind of confidence and trust in himself.

He almost would have admired it, if not for the fact the madman was, well, _mad_.

Of course, believing in yourself was different from being able to admit when you were wrong.

And that went hand in hand with self-confidence anyway. Being able to know when you were incorrect, but not letting that affect your trust in your future decisions.

And until Bruce was given explicit evidence indicating he'd made the wrong choice here, he was keeping the lunatic.

When he pulled in to the cave he saw Alfred nowhere in sight and quickly assumed he must be up in the mansion.

Moving to the monitors, he was quick to check The Joker's cell, and felt strangely relieved to see him still there. Though he knew he shouldn't have worried. The cell _was _escape proof, he was certain.

He just sat there, watching him for several minutes when he was disrupted by the sound of Alfred's voice coming in through the com link.

"Master Bruce." He began. "I wish to speak with you up in the manor."

"Can't it wait Alfred? I'm busy."

That was a lie, but their spat earlier had left him not wanting to really interact with the butler just then.

"I insist Master Bruce." The older man pressed. "I feel what I have to say is of the utmost importance."

The detective sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Alright." He answered. "I'll be up in a minute."

When he reached the study, he found Alfred sitting there, his expression as serious as he'd ever seen it.

"What is it Alfred?" He began, pulling the cowl from his head.

It felt good to get it off.

The butler wasted no time in making his point.

"Sir, I feel _strongly_ that we cannot keep that lunatic here any longer." He said stiffly, standing from his seat.

Bruce quickly assumed an expression of surprise.

"What?" He said, as if imploring the older man to explain the sudden change from reluctant acceptance to outright refusal.

"Sir, the _man_, and I use the term loosely, that you have locked down in that cell, is highly unstable, completely deranged and _far _too dangerous to keep here. You compromise not only yours and my well being by brining him here, but you compromise the very ability you have to operate as you now _do_!"

Bruce shook his head.

"Alfred, _what _is going on with you?" He asked, confused. "I don't understand this. I explained the risks to you earlier. I told you what we could expect. And despite your reluctance, you said you understood and that you supported the decision one hundred percent. What changed so suddenly for you to now be so opposed to us keeping him?"

"I spoke to him Master Bruce." Alfred explained simply.

The crusader's face dropped suddenly, his jaw nearly going slack.

"You _what_?"

"I spoke with him." The butler calmly replied. "Over the intercom."

Bruce shook his head again, bringing his hands to his hair.

"What… what in God's _name _would prompt you to do something so foolish!"

Alfred's expression flickered in annoyance for just a moment before he resumed his usual stoicism.

"Well I should say it was really _him_ who first spoke to _me_." He began.

"_He _spoke to _you_!" Bruce sounded like he couldn't believe any of this. "He wouldn't dare. Not unless he _wanted_ me to come in there and beat the hell out of him."

"Well, Master Bruce, it seems to me as though that's something he might very much want." Alfred began, his face turning to disgust. "But no. He'd assumed, rather coincidently, that you had gone from the place, and felt safe then in addressing me."

"And you thought it would be okay to acknowledge him!"

"He was spouting all manner of derogatory remarks Sir. About _you_! I couldn't very well sit idly by while he maligned your character! The _things_ he said…"

Batman shook his head, turning away and pacing across the room.

"Alfred, it doesn't _matter_ what he said!" He nearly yelled. "Don't you get it! He's a _master_ of manipulation. Whatever he said, he said it with _just_ the purpose of getting you to engage him. It was all calculated! He just wanted to lure you in to a conversation with him so he could get inside your head! He'd say _anything_ to accomplish it!"

"You'll forgive my saying so Sir, but it didn't sound at all as though that were his intent. In fact, he sounded quite distraught."

"No." Bruce cut him off. "No. That's what he _does_. Don't you understand? He accesses what will take for you to open up to him and then from there he unravels your mind like a ball of yarn! The more you interact with him, the worse it gets! All it takes is the smallest bit of information, even just a reaction from you and he's able to tell so much! And whatever he's able to learn, whatever he picks up, it doesn't even _have_ to be anything you said, it could just be the way you said it, or the expression on your face, or how long you take to answer! Whatever it is, he can _tell_ things about you, and Alfred, _listen_ to me when I tell you, his cruelty knows _no_ bounds! His malice is beyond your comprehension! He'll use you _against_ yourself! He'll take whatever he can, whatever he gleans from you, and use it to tear you apart, until all that's left is a reduced shell. You _never_ engage him Alfred! I thought I'd made that clear!"

"Well then what about _you_ Sir!" Alfred's voice nearly rose. "It seems you engage the madman quite often!"

"That's different…" Bruce said.

"How! How is that any different then my engaging him! If he's as dangerous as you say, then it seems obvious to me _no one_ should ever speak with him, including yourself!"

Bruce shook his head.

"You don't understand. I know him. We have a sort of understanding. A sort of con…"

He stopped himself, realizing what he was about to say, his face suddenly draining of color.

"Gahh!" He shouted in frustration. "What am I yelling at _you _for! This is _his_ fault! He's trying to use you against me!"

Alfred looked startled.

"What were you going to say Master Bruce!" He questioned.

"Nothing…" The vigilante mumbled. "It was nothing."

"No. It was something." The older man pushed. "You were going to say you had a connection with that lunatic, weren't you?"

"No. Forget it!" Bruce answered. "Look at us! That maniac already has us fighting with each other! This is _his_ doing and I'm not going to allow it!"

He turned abruptly then, for the grandfather clock.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred called after him. "What are you planning on doing?"

"Making sure he understands why talking to _you_ is a bad idea!" The crusader called over his shoulder before hastily disappearing through the corridor.

/

He tore through the cell door like a hurricane, standing still in its frame for some moments, just seething.

The Joker seemed wholly unimpressed, glancing up only briefly at the crusader, his expression bored, before returning his attention to picking the dirt from his nails.

"I was wondering when you'd get here." He said. "I guess it didn't take long for old Alfie to turn tattle-tale. What'd he do? Implore that you to get rid of me? Reassert his opposition to your keeping me here?"

Batman stepped forward, letting the door slam shut behind him.

"What did you say to him?" He asked, his voice measured but still clipped with anger.

The Joker scoffed, his shoulder's rising with the sound.

"How predictable. Did Alfie _really_ get his panties all in a bunch? Just because I forced some painful truths down his throat? That's the problem with people. They never can accept themselves with any sort of _grace_. They've got to hide and deny what they are. And then, when confronted with it, rather then manning up and just accepting it, they instead ignore it, like it isn't there, pretending it doesn't exist, as though that'll somehow make it go away. Well, I suppose I shouldn't be _surprised_. I mean, if you _yourself_ act this way, why should expect any better from the _help_?"

Bruce could feel his fists clench tighter, his teeth grinding in fury.

"You're to stay _away_ from Alfred! Is that understood?" He spit.

This time The Joker did look up at him, as almost always, a smirk playing on his lips.

"But Batman…" He began. "Whatever am I _supposed _to do? It's not as though you've left me with a great many options!"

"Talk to him again and I'll make your stay here infinitely more miserable!" Bruce answered quickly.

The madman laughed abruptly.

"Oh, come _on_!" He giggled. "It's not as if I _assaulted_ the man!"

"Don't play dumb with me Joker!" The detective fumed. "You know damn well what you're doing!"

Again The Joker scoffed.

"It was his own decision to respond." He said, his tone suddenly bored.

"No!" Batman answered. "You knew _exactly_ what it would take to get him to engage you! I may let you get away with playing your ridiculous head games with me, but you will _leave _Alfred out of this!"

"Head games! Batsy, really, I'm hurt! I only was pouring my _soul _out to the man when _he_ decided to get personal!

"NO!" The detective's voice rose and he came quickly at the lunatic, stopping just feet from him. "If you address him again, engage him again, so much as _look _at him again, I _promise_ you, I'll make you regret it."

The Joker laughed sharply.

"How!" He barely managed between his hysterics. "How are you going to stop me! If I want to talk to Alfie, if I want to do _anything _to the old man, how are you going to stop me?"

Bruce stood silent, his hands half-clenched to fists.

"I'll make your life a living hell!" He spit. "I'll make you wish you'd never been born!"

Again The Joker laughed.

"Really? Well, according to _you_, my life already _is_ a living hell. Or do you not remember, hmm? How you told me, only hours ago, how my life is, what were your exact words? 'Nothing but a torturous existence.', wasn't it? So there goes _that_ idea. And don't _pretend _that you don't already know how _little_ I _care_ about your _threats_. So what are you going to do, hmm?"

Batman said nothing.

"Are you going to beat me up again Batsy? Because that's proven oh so effective in the past!" He giggled. "Throw me back in Arkham? A whole hell of a lot of good that's gonna do you! Break my body to the point it's rendered useless? As though I could care! I don't even care if I die Batman! Don't you understand? Or are you really that stupid! Have I not proven as much to you _numerous_ times? You can do _nothing_ to stop me! Nothing beyond ending my life. Oh, but you won't do that, will you? No. You're far too selfish to _ever_ do that. You never could _bare _the _burden_ of your own _guilt_, could you? You like to tell yourself it's morality that keeps you from it. But it's not. Your being able to live with yourself trumps the supposed responsibility you feel towards protecting so called innocents, doesn't it? Of course it does. If you could only get over your ridiculous hang-ups, you'd be rid of me, and save _so many_ needlessly lost lives, as they say. Oh, but there's another reason you don't go through with it, isn't there _Brucie_. And I think we _both_ know what _that_ is."

The vigilante stared hard at him for a moment, silent, and then he turned away, walking to the other side of the cell, his mind awash in thoughts of how he'd almost said to Alfred he and the lunatic had a connection.

He _would_ have said it if he hadn't caught himself.

And what the hell did that mean?

That The Joker was _right_ about them! That they really _did_ share something unique together? That they were the only two people in all the world who could really relate to one another?

Batman shook his head.

He didn't want to believe that. He _couldn't _believe that.

But then the madman's words kept ringing loud in his ears, about how he was in constant denial, how he simply refused to see the truth for the sake of his fragile hold on what was left of his sanity.

And suddenly it seemed like maybe that was true.

He turned to look at his captive and noticed with disgust how he was sitting there with a completely unaffected expression, almost bored. He wasn't even _looking _at the crusader, but had gone back to picking at his nails.

Bruce wanted to scream, and he wanted to ring the shrimp's neck! But then he knew The Joker would only laugh at him, like he _always_ did, and realized there was no point. Again, as the lunatic had said.

He breathed in deep.

"Why do you do this?" He questioned, and for the first time there was no edge in his voice, no anger. Just defeat.

"Do what?" The Joker asked innocently, his eyes still on his nails.

"Why do you keep trying to hurt me when I only want to help you?"

At this the madman _did_ look up, his expression serious.

And then he shook his head.

"No… No. You've got it backward sweetheart. It's _you _who wants to hurt _me_. Or haven't you noticed? You want to hurt me because your moral conditioning makes you unable to stand the fact that the one person you truly connect with in this world also happens to be a mass-murderer. It makes you _sooo_ angry and, conveniently for you, the source of your anger is nightly and willingly available to be beat to a pulp. Don't think for a moment I don't simply _let_ you do it dear. Since it pleases you so. I'm not as physically helpless as _all that_." He chuckled. "No. See, _I_ want to help _you_! I want to help you let go of all that damn _pain_ you carry around as though it were some badge of honor. You accuse me of living a delusion, but it's you Bat-babe."

"But you hurt those I love, those I care about. You fight against everything I believe in." Bruce argued.

Again The Joker shook his head.

"No." He said. "You only _think_ you believe in those things. You've tried to force yourself to believe in things you _know_ deep down aren't true. And that's where all your pain comes from. All I'm trying to do is show you how futile it is, how pointless. Struggling against what _is_ Bruce, refusing its reality, _that's_ what hurts. I'm only trying to teach you to let it _go_; to not suffer with all of these absurd, ridiculous notions of what's _right_ and _wrong_. It's all made up! Make-believe! Pulled from thin air by man so they can better control the little worlds they've built around themselves. No… I'm trying to _help_ you. You've convinced yourself you're doing the same by forcing a past long dead on me, as if that somehow will _change_ what I see. It _won't_. Don't you realize? I've evolved _beyond_ that."

"But the lapses you have! The flashbacks!" The detective argued.

The Joker waved a dismissive hand.

"That doesn't mean anything. Left over residue of the subconscious mind. It hasn't got a thing to do with who and what I am _now_."

"How can you say that?" Batman asked, astonished. "You don't even know the things you went through! So you can't know how they shaped you!"

The Joker shook his head then, beginning to chuckle lightly.

"And how do you know what I know?" He asked, his tone sly.

The detective's expression was incredulous.

"Because you told me as much!" He spit, growing agitated.

"You expect me always to be truthful?" The Joker laughed.

Bruce's said nothing, just stared, slack jawed.

And The Joker kept laughing.

"I remember." He said calmly. "I told you I didn't because you were so bent I believing it, and I couldn't help playing with that. Seeing you so excited, as though you'd discovered some great secret!" He laughed more shrilly.

"Are… are you saying you've been faking your episodes!" Batman asked, feeling a sudden shot of anger.

"Oh, no!" The madman continued to giggle. "No. Those very much are real! But see, I'm somehow aware while they happen. Problem is, there really isn't a thing I can do anything about it. Something in my brain just snaps and I started saying and doing things against my will." He shrugged. "No big thing. It's just another of life's reminders that, no matter how much you think you're in control, you're not. Not really."

"If that's true…" Bruce began. "If you really remember, then prove it. Tell me something."

Again The Joker waved his hand.

"Boring." He said. "But if I must. What do you want to know?"

"Something I haven't told you. You know you were held prisoner by an insane doctor. Tell me how you ended up in his hands?"

"Not me." The lunatic answered. "Him. Anthony O'Down. That's his full name. And he was taken off the streets in Washington, by two men."

"So you disassociate with the boy then? You don't believe it's you?" Bruce was quick to cut him off.

The Joker shook his head.

"No. Literally speaking, of _course_ it's me. I'm not _that_ crazy." He laughed. "But I'm not that person anymore. I don't relate to him in the least. The doctors name, by the way, Dr. Mallihan. In case you were wondering."

Bruce breathed in sharply.

"Tell me about before that then. Before you were kidnapped."

"He lived on the streets, cavorting with a group of crime-inclined youths." He laughed. "Nothing so _terrible_ as what _I_ indulge, of course."

"The boy who taught you magic? What was his name?" Bruce pushed.

"Bill. Billy. I'm much better then he ever was though." The Joker smiled.

Very clearly now, the madman was telling the truth. He _did_ remember.

Batman felt ill at having been so thoroughly duped, swallowing hard, and yet his curiosity gave way.

"Back at the factory then, you remember that? The episode you were having?"

The Joker gave a nod.

"Of course."

"So you knew what was happening? What you were doing? How you were acting?"

"Yes."

"But you could do nothing to stop it?"

"It's like this Bats." The Joker said. "I can hear and see what's really there, consciously I'm aware of reality, but some part of my mind sees something else, scenes from the past, and causes my body to react accordingly, as he did then. As Anthony did. That includes certain synapses, the ones which control things like speech."

The detective shook his head, finding it difficult to believe _any_ of this.

"You… You started to do something back there. Do you remember? You started to..."

"Take my cloths off?" The Joker cut him short.

"Yes." The crusader answered, his voice flat.

"Well don't flatter yourself." The lunatic chuckled. "It had nothing to do with you. Though if you're looking for a little action, I'm perfectly willi…"

"Were you sexually abused?"

The Joker looked momentarily surprised, his brows shooting upward.

And then he began to laugh, hard, slapping his knee.

"Oh, Brucie, _that's_ rich!" He could barely control his hysterics. "No. No. Get your mind from the gutter dear. I mean, really! They sprayed him down with a hose, to wash him." He explained.

"But, the way you reacted. You were scared to death and you said…"

"Have you ever had a fire hose turned on you Bats?" The Joker asked. "It isn't entirely pleasant."

"You said you could do it yourself though. What did you mean?"

"Oh, those two buffoons would strip Anthony and hold him down if he didn't cooperate. Like I said, unpleasant. Not that I haven't had just that sort of thing happen to me in Arkham. But it's only comical, really, how the moronic security staff thinks it gives them power." He laughed again. "They find out otherwise, sooner or later, I assure you."

"You remember all of this." Bruce began. "And it doesn't affect you? You don't feel anything? Any emotion?"

The Joker shook his head.

"Why would I?" He asked, as though it made perfect sense.

"Well you were _abused_!" Batman exclaimed. "_Badly _abused. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

The madman shrugged.

"Only that people are what I've always said they are. Beyond that, no, of course not."

"You don't think all of it somehow _shaped_ you?" Batman pushed. "Caused you to become this way?"

The lunatic gave him a confused expression.

"No. How many people suffer as we have? And yet there's only us two Batsy. It's got nothing to do with what others did to us, or didn't do, either directly or indirectly. Like I said Bat-babe, we only use certain events, certain circumstance to excuse what we are. Most people need to assign reason, they need to assign blame. They don't see that everything just _is_. Things happen randomly and without purpose. There is no _great _meaning behind any of it. Everything that happens is just the result of some other action, like a domino affect, one event maybe having absolutely no connection to another, but still, ultimately, causing it to happen. Degree of separation is irrelevant. Everyone and everything has some affect on something else, and that something else in turn has an affect on another thing, and so on. So, in the end, everyone is responsible, and no one is responsible!" He laughed. "But people can't just simply accept what they are. They've got to give it reason, and make reasons for why it is. It's nothing short of pathetic."

Batman said nothing for a long moment then, just starring ahead, past The Joker, at the wall behind him. And he looked, suddenly, truly pained.

And then the madman's hysterics broke the silence.

"Oh Batman, see what happens when you actually _listen_ to me? Just like last time! And it all suddenly makes sense!"

And then he laughed again, the sound echoing off the small room's walls.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23:**

Bruce just stood there in silence for what must have been nearly a minute, not reacting at all to The Joker's laughter. Just staring blankly at the wall behind him.

At last the madman's hysterics died down and he glared at the crusader, annoyance flashing in his eyes.

"Well!" He said. "What do you say?"

Batman broke the haze he was in then, looking down to the lunatic.

"There's nothing _to_ say." He answered. "I'm brining you back to Arkham. Right now."

The Joker's expression suddenly fell, the smirk going quickly from his lips.

"What?" He said.

"I'm brining you back to Arkham." Bruce repeated. "If you already know about your past, which clearly you've demonstrated you do, then there's nothing I can do for you. I can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. So let's go." He reached forward, as though ready to grab hold of the thin man.

The Joker almost recoiled.

"Wait." He said. "That's it? You're just going to take me back to that hell hole and forget all of this?"

Bruce said nothing, his expression stoic, his hand outreached.

The Joker rolled his eyes.

"I don't want to go back to Arkham Batsy."

"Well you don't have a choice. You've shown me there's no reason to keep you here any longer."

"But don't you want to…"

"_No_!" Batman spit. And suddenly he grabbed hold of the madman, jerking him up, on to his feet.

He began then to drag The Joker towards the cell door, and the lunatic struggled mightily against him.

"Let me _go _Batman!" He hissed, fighting to break free. "I'm _not_ going back there!"

The detective said nothing, continuing in his task.

The Joker fought harder, and it seemed at once he lost it, straining with the verve of the madman Bruce knew he was. And somehow, he broke loose, practically throwing himself across the small room and plastering himself against the wall there.

He stared at the crusader with upset eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly from his exertion.

Batman stared back.

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you!" He asked angrily.

The Joker just shook his head.

"I'm not… I'm not going back." He said.

"Yes." Batman huffed. "You are!" He began to move towards him.

"Alright!" The lunatic yelled abruptly, the sound of desperation suddenly in his voice. It stopped Bruce in his tracks. It was a tone he was wholly unused to hearing from the madman. "I don't _actually _remember."

Bruce stared, blankly.

"What?" He finally managed.

"I don't remember." The Joker reiterated. "I don't remember my past."

Batman started, than stopped.

"But you just said…"

"I know what I said." The lunatic cut him off. "I was lying."

The vigilante shook his head.

"You've changed your story three times now Joker. First you say you don't remember, than you say you do. And now you're saying again that you don't. What you say in completely unreliable."

"What I'm saying _now_ is true." The Joker continued.

"No." Bruce shook his head. "No. For whatever reason, you suddenly care about not going back to Arkham. You'll say anything to stay here."

The thin man shook his head.

"No. I don't remember. That's what you want to hear and that's the truth."

Batman came at him fast than, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and slamming him back in to the wall.

"If you don't remember than how is it you _know _so much!" He ground his teeth in anger and frustration.

The Joker stared back at him, his face without a smile for once.

"The intercom dear. You left it on when talking to your man-servant."

Bruce glared at him, saying nothing. His expression was one of doubt.

"You forget Bruce, I spend my days incarcerated fooling so called _qualified physicians_ just for the _fun _of it. I'm _good_ at sounding sincere. And I'm good at piecing together convincing background stories with very little information. Every other week, whoever the sap is I've been assigned, they think it's _them _who've finally made the break-through. Who've finally gotten me to open up about my _past_. You'd be amazed how easily they're convinced. Or not, considering I had you thoroughly convinced yourself. Overhearing your conversation, and then just the little tidbits you let slip around me. It was easy."

Batman's grip tightened.

"_Why_!" He spit. "Why'd you _lie_ then!"

"Because that's what I do Batsy!" The Joker answered. "I like to mess with your head. Except… you didn't react the way I'd hoped."

"And the doctor? His name?"

"I made that up. I don't know any doctor by that name."

The vigilante held tight to him for a moment, his face searching The Joker's, as if trying to discern whether he was telling the truth or not.

Finally he released him, turning away angrily.

He said nothing for several, long seconds, and The Joker just stared back at him, waiting, himself quiet for once.

Batman turned to him then.

"How were you expecting me to react?"

The madman sighed in exasperation, throwing his arms up and walking along the walls edge.

"I wanted you to _stop forcing_ it on me. To see that my having a past or not doesn't matter. That is won't make any difference to who and what I am! I thought you'd just accept that then…"

"But I _did_ accept it! I was ready to take you back to Arkham and give up all hope of _helping_ you!"

The Joker turned away from him then, staring at the floor.

"I thought you'd see I don't need any help…" He said in a whisper, his voice almost too soft to hear.

Bruce glared at him, his hands clenching tight.

"What do you _want_ Joker!" He nearly yelled. "Why were you so upset when I tried to take you back!"

The thin man remained turned away, his hand held against the wall as though he needed it to hold him up.

He looked suddenly unthreatening, and weak, like he had those first few weeks after Batman had found him on the street.

"I just…" He began, his voice still as quiet as before.

And suddenly it felt as though the ground had been pulled from under his feet, the world spinning in dizzying circles. And then his knees buckled and he fell, hard, to the floor.

Batman was shocked, and without even realizing had rushed to the madman's side, bending down.

"Joker!" He said, panic in his voice, grabbing hold of the thin man, turning him on to his back. He was unconscious, Bruce could see that right away and he found himself actually cradling the madman's head in an attempt to revive him.

"Alfred!" He pressed down on the intercom in his cowl, calling the butler.

Moments later the older man's voice came crackling through.

"Sir?"

"I need you to bring some wash cloths and a bowl of warm water down to the holding cell. Now."

"Right away Sir." Alfred answered. "May I ask what the matter is?"

"The Joker's fainted. I'm trying now to revive him, but I don't know the cause yet and I want to be careful."

"Very well Sir. I shall be down in just a moment."

The line was cut and Bruce brought his attention back to the man in his arms.

Looking at him he realized how quick he'd been to react to what happened, and thinking about it, he realized that what had made him go so quickly to The Joker's aid had been a very real sense of worry. He was _worried_ about The Joker.

The sudden epiphany left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on checking the lunatic's vitals. He couldn't think about this right now. He couldn't think about how everything The Joker had said, _everything_, seemed all at once to be true.

Removing a gauntlet, he pressed his fingers against The Joker's pulse. It was strong, which was a good sign. He then put his hand to his forehead. He was a little warm, but Bruce could tell he wasn't running a fever.

Just then Alfred came through the door, putting a stopper in place to keep it from closing all the way.

Bruce hadn't been lying when he said there was no way out of the cell from within. At least, none that _they_ knew of.

"Over here Alfred." He called. "Hurry."

The butler wasted no time in crossing the room, bowl and washcloths in hand.

"May I ask what happened, Master Bruce?" He said, gazing intently at the unconscious Joker.

Bruce shook his head.

"We were just… talking and out of nowhere he collapsed." He said, dipping the washcloth in the bowl before beginning to dab it gently along the madman's forehead.

Alfred watched with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He was certain Bruce didn't even realize what he looked like at the moment as their earlier conversation replayed in his mind. How the master had nearly said he and The Joker had a connection.

The truth of that statement was never more apparent then now.

"You really care for him, don't you?" He said aloud.

Bruce froze, glancing uneasily over his shoulder at the older man.

"What?"

Alfred nodded towards The Joker.

"You care for him."

"Don't be absurd!" The vigilante huffed defensively. "He's my responsibility is all."

Alfred shook his head.

"No. It's quite blatant Sir. You've saved the lunatic's life _how_ many times now? You've even gone so far as to put your own life at risk in order to do so. I wasn't sure whether it was true or not until I saw your interactions with him. And now, it's most apparent. You care for him.

My question is, _why_!"

/

I know its short guys. And kinda sucks. But I thought I should get something out on this story since it's been so long since an update. I hope you don't hate it _too_ much, lol.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24:**

Bruce said nothing for a long while, averting his gaze from the older man, back to The Joker. He felt suddenly nauseous, sick. And confused. Everything was so suddenly twisted, and his lungs felt constricted, like he couldn't breath.

The madman looked fragile, and again he was hit with the wave of protectiveness.

And he couldn't deny it any longer. It was real. What Alfred had said.

And it was so wrong.

"I don't know." The vigilante answered, his voice nearly a whisper. I don't know."

Alfred remained rigid, stood straight as always.

"You know Sir." He replied. "You know deep down. But it's something you've so strongly denied, for such a long time, that the reason is lost somewhere inside you."

Bruce shook his head.

"This is wrong." He began. "I should hate this lunatic with every fiber of my being. My moral consciousness tells me I should. And in a way… in a way I do, but…"

The butler waited patiently, not wanting to interrupt.

"He keeps saying we're the same. He keeps telling me… he keeps telling me that we view the world through the same eyes, a pair of eyes he claims to be unique to us two and us two alone, our only difference being how we've chosen to react to what we perceive."

He paused, eyeing the madman as his chest rose and fell in an even, calm pattern.

"I didn't want to believe that. I didn't want to believe there was ever any connection between us. That every time I've saved his miserable life, it's been because I was morally _obligated_ to, not because I wanted to. But… if I'm being true to myself, _whenever _I've been true to myself, I've realized that wasn't true. I _need_ him Alfred."

"You… _need_ him Master Bruce?" Alfred couldn't hide the note of distain from creeping in to his voice.

Batman sighed, heavily.

"He gives me purpose." He began, unsteadily, sounding himself on the verge of tears. "I've wanted to believe for so long that wasn't true, but it is… You asked me how many times I've saved his life? The answer is too many to remember."

He shook his head again.

"He puts himself in danger constantly. _Constantly_. It's like he's trying to test me. To see the lengths I'd go to keep him here, with me. And every time… _every time_ I've passed that test. He always _laughs_ afterwards, like there's some great _secret_ he knows! And tells me he loves me. But how could anyone so vile ever, _really love_ anyone! But the more he said it… and… and all the opportunities he's had to kill me, he never once took it. There's been times I thought I was a dead-man at his hands. Times I was so sure I'd finally met my end, and always… _always_ he stepped back. He kills so _easily_ Alfred. That's what no one understands. It means nothing to him. Absolutely _nothing_. So I've asked myself so many times now… why? Why hasn't he killed me? And why haven't I killed him? He's hurt everyone close to me. He's taken _so much_ away from all of them. I should _hate_ him."

Again he shook his head. And then he lifted The Joker up, walking with him stiffly to the cot and placing him down on it.

"He's told me that without him… I'd have cleaned up crime in this city long ago. That he's the only one in this world who gives me the excuse to be what I am. That without him, I could no longer be Batman. That there'd be no need. And without Batman, there'd be no me."

"That isn't true Sir." Alfred interrupted at last. "Batman is only a costume. It _isn't_ who you are!"

But Bruce only shook his head.

"No. I _am_ Batman. I have been since the day my parent's died. Maybe even before that. And The Joker's right. I need him. Just like he needs me. I can't _beat _him Alfred. Every other criminal in Gotham, every other criminal I've _ever_ encountered, _anywhere_, there was always something… something I could use against them. Something I could persuade them with. Something I could use to make them _stop_."

He looked down to the still unconscious lunatic.

"But not him. I've never been able to figure out what he wants because he doesn't _want _anything. He isn't afraid of me. He isn't afraid of pain. He isn't even afraid to _die_. All he cares about… all he cares about is the _game_. _Playing_ with me. The only thing that could ever make him stop would be me killing him, or my no longer being Batman. And that… that would be like me killing _myself_. I _can't_ give this up Alfred. It's all I've ever known. It's all I've ever _been_. It's sickening… and selfish. But it's the truth. He gives me purpose Alfred. The Joker gives me a reason to _be_. And he's right about one more thing…"

Bruce turned away, walking to the other side of the small room.

"I hurt him on purpose. I hurt him beyond what's necessary because… because _in_ him… I'm reminded of myself gone wrong. I _see_ myself in him, and it makes me angry. It makes me want to _hurt_ him, as though it were his fault. My whole fixation on his past, on who he used to be… on wanting to keep him here… it had nothing to do with wanting to help him. It had to do with wanting to help _myself_. I thought… I thought that if I could prove he wasn't a monster, that there was _some part_ of him that was human and redeemable… than maybe I wouldn't feel so bad about myself. Maybe I'd be redeemable too."

"Master Bruce, you are nothing like…"

Bruce put his hand up.

"No. I _am_. I've been in denial about it for so long. And it's done me no good. We've both been _shown_ what the world truly is. It's cruelty and the indiscriminate nature of it was forced on both of us before we were even old enough to understand the differences between life and death. I fought against what I was shown. I refused to believe it. To _accept_ it. And he…" He nodded towards The Joker. "He did the opposite. He embraced it. Thrived in it even. And this whole time, all our battles, all our encounters and interactions… everything he's done, everything he's _going_ to do, it's all been done in an attempt to teach me that there's nothing I can do to change the way the world is. There's nothing I can do to change the way _life_ is. In his own, twisted way, The Joker really _has _been trying to help me. It's ironic." Bruce chuckled lightly. "That it's him who's been selfless in this relationship, and I've been just the opposite. Those people out there, they would never see it that way. _I_ never saw it that way until I took the blinders off. To them… The Joker will _always_ be the villain, while I'm the hero." He looked back to the madman. "He wants me to stop _suffering_. He wants me to accept the futility of everything and then… just… be like him. Be happy." He walked to The Joker, looking down at him. "He wants me to be happy _with_ him."

Alfred moved towards Bruce then, placing a hand gently along his shoulder.

"Sir, I…"

"It's okay Alfred. You don't have to worry. I've always seen it as him wanting to _corrupt_ me. To bring me down to his level. When all it's ever, really been, was him wanting to see me freed, as he's been freed." He shook his head. "But I can't. I can't let go. Maybe it's because I'm afraid. Maybe it's because I'm scared of what I'll become then. He's right. I tried to tell him it was him living in agony, but… but it's really me. I'm the one. And I guess… I guess he hates to see the only person in this whole world he can relate to… the only person who he's ever had any _real_ connection with… in so much pain. He took the plunge. He stepped away from any and all restraints, and it ended his suffering. It ended his agony. But I can't do that. I can't take that step. The darkness is too much. Too deep… too real… And I'm too afraid."

"Perhaps, Sir, you are too _strong_." Alfred said quietly.

Bruce looked up to him then, and finally he smiled, than shrugged.

"I'd like to believe that." He whispered.

Alfred nodded.

They just stood there, looking each other in the eye for a long moment, searching each others faces for some sort of confirmation of what each of them had said, and then they suddenly were snapped from it by the loud sound of hands clapping together and they looked, startled, in The Joker's direction.

"Touching." The madman said, his usual, sarcastic tone well in place. "I'm moved nearly to tears." And then he smiled, looking at Batman with his bright and knowing eyes. "You can take me back to Arkham now sweetheart. I've gotten exactly what I came for."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25:**

"You…" Bruce began, than stopped. "You were…"

"Awake? Yeah." The Joker finished for him, rolling his eyes. He folded his arms across his chest, turning his head to look at the wall beside him, as though bored.

"For how _long _were you awake!" Bruce pushed, unwilling, maybe even unable to believe that all his soul pouring had just been heard by the lunatic.

The Joker looked back to him, his eyes bright, and he smiled.

"I never _wasn't _awake." He answered.

"You…"

The Joker sighed, again turning away.

"I _heard_ everything, if that's what you're asking. Really Batsy, I'm touched." He looked back. "To finally hear you acknowledge our co-dependent relationship, it's almost too much for me to bear."

Suddenly he began to fan his face with his hand, as though he were going to cry. But quickly his show of emotion morphed in to a face splitting grin and he laughed loudly.

Alfred stood staring at him in astonished disbelief, and when the madman began to laugh, his expression changed in to one of disgust.

"You devious, _vile_ creature!" He huffed. "You have no concept of what it is to _feel_, do you! To sympathize and care for anyone other then yourself!"

"Alfred, stop." Bruce put his hand on the older man's shoulder, but the butler shrugged him off.

"No. Master Bruce, you just made what was probably the most difficult confession of your life to me, in confidence. A confession involving _him_!" He pointed angrily at The Joker. "And all he can do is _laugh_ at you!"

The Joker by then had ceased in his mirth, and he glared at Alfred, an all too familiar hate flashing in his eyes. Bruce recognized it quickly and without even thinking he pushed Alfred behind him, standing between the two men.

Still, The Joker addressed him.

"You old fool!" He spit. "It's not sympathy! It's empathy! There's no one else in this world who can understand him as I do! _No one_! Certainly not you." He chortled. "You, who hides behind your supposedly well-meaning _façade_ of loyalty. Why don't you go on and tell him? Tell him what I told you. Why it is you're so unwaveringly _devoted_ to him. You _know_ I'm right."

Alfred said nothing, feeling rage boil up inside him, wanting desperately to explode out. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such anger.

The Joker smiled.

"You don't care about him." He said, nodding towards Bruce. "You care about what it is he gives you."

"And what is it _you_ care about!" Alfred hissed, stepping to the side of Bruce to look The Joker in the face. "You're nothing but a sick, perverse, sorry excuse for a human being, unable to exercise restraint. You're completely without control. Without _will_."

"I CARE ABOUT HIM!" The Joker shouted, his voice rising uncharacteristically, causing both Alfred and Bruce to jump. And then, suddenly, he stood atop the cot, and Bruce felt himself tense, preparing for what he was sure was going to be an attack.

"He knows it!" The Joker's voice went back to a normal volume, and he waved a hand towards the crusader. "He only just now confessed it. But he's _always _known. We have only _each other_ with whom to commiserate, to share in what we and we alone _know_. You _never_ couldunderstand."

Alfred could feel his fury consume him, and he could no longer restrain himself as suddenly he ducked past Batman, charging for the lunatic.

"ALFRED, NO!" Bruce yelled, reaching out to stop him.

But it was too late, he'd already gone out of reach, lunging for The Joker, overcome with the urge to hurt him. Something he hadn't ever, really felt before, not so strongly.

Bruce ran forward, but by then the butler had already reached the madman, scrambling on to the cot, not thinking. And when he'd reared back his hand to strike, The Joker had waited for it, and then ducked underneath when it came, coming up an instant later and sinking his fist in to Alfred's stomach.

Immediately the older man doubled over, chocking out and falling to his knees.

The Joker snarled, ready to kick the butler across the face when he was slammed from the side, in to the wall, so hard it knocked the breath straight from his lungs. An instant later and someone had gripped hold of his hair, smashing his head sidelong against the concrete wall, and the room spun. And then again it happened and he felt his legs go out from under him as he slumped down, on to the cot.

Bruce turned then, towards Alfred, picking him up underneath his shoulders and lifting him carefully from the bed.

"Alfred, are you alright!" He questioned frantically, bringing him to the rooms center.

Alfred continued to chock out, sucking air sharply to get it back in to his lungs.

He nodded, though his face was contorted in pain.

"Jesus Christ…" The detective said lowly, kneeling down beside him.

And then he started suddenly when he heard an enraged scream from behind, and turned just in time to see The Joker coming fast towards him, a look of pure hatred in his eyes.

A moment later and he'd crashed in to Bruce, and sent the both of them flying across the floor, past Alfred.

The Joker had landed on top, and he wasted no time then as he began to hail down punches across the detectives face. And though he hit mostly Kevlar, protecting Batman from his blows, and in turn doing The Joker's own fists more damage, splitting the skin covering his knuckles wide, he kept hitting him regardless, over and over.

"J-Joker!" Bruce tried. "Joker s… Stop!"

But the madman wasn't listening, and he cried out in rage with each punch he threw.

Finally Batman reached up, catching hold of one of the his wrists.

The Joker tried to pull free. But it was in vain against the vice like grip of the vigilante. And then Bruce reached for his other wrist, taking hold of that with the same strength.

The Joker screamed in fury, sounding more animal then human. Unable to get his arms loose, he resorted then to smashing his forehead in to the crusader's own. But just like it had done to his hands because of the armor, his own head took the greater damage and he again at once felt dizzy.

Bruce took the opportunity then to push up and back, and he rolled them, so that now he was on top.

Still the madman struggled violently, jerking his knee up in to Batman's abdomen. The detective felt it, but only slightly.

"Joker, STOP!" He screamed before quickly standing, lifting the lunatic up with him and fast spinning him around, wrapping his forearm around The Joker's throat, and twisting one of his arms behind his back. "STOP!" He again shouted.

But The Joker wouldn't listen, continuing to fight.

Bruce fell then to a sitting position, leaning back, tightening his hold on the madman.

"STOP!" He again shouted.

"NO!" The Joker spit. "LET ME GO!" And he struggled more fiercely, even trying to bite Batman's hand through his gauntlet.

"Joker, listen to me!" The detective tried again.

"No! Let me GO! You're a fool! As great a fool as _he_ is!"

"Joker, LISTEN!" Bruce said, his voice pleading. "I know I hurt you and I'm _sorry_! I didn't _want_ to. But you were going to hurt _him_ and I couldn't let you do that! You have to understand!"

Still The Joker pushed against his hold, shaking his head vigorously.

"Just let me _go_!" He spit.

"Are you going to attack Alfred if I do?"

"LET ME GO, GOD DAMN YOU!" The Joker screamed.

Bruce frowned.

"I will." He said calmly. "But if you so much as _look_ at Alfred the wrong way, I _will_ hurt you." He hissed.

The Joker said nothing, but Bruce could feel how tense he was.

Finally he loosened his grip, first letting go The Joker's arm and then unwrapping his forearm from his neck.

The moment he did, the lunatic fell forward and scrambled to his feet.

Batman wasted no time in getting to his own, standing ready for another outburst.

But The Joker just stood there, his back to him, his hands clenched in to fists and his head bowed down.

By then Alfred had recovered and was now standing as well.

He cleared his throat and Bruce glanced back towards him.

"Forgive me Sir." He began. "That was foolish of me. Reckless. And I should have known better then to lose my head that way."

"It's alright Alfred." Batman answered him.

"Having said that," Alfred continued. "I feel, Sir, that it is only right for me to inform you that, for as long as that madman is kept here, I myself will be unable to offer you my services. If and when he is removed, I shall return. Until then, consider this my resignation. I have endured a great many extraordinary situations in relation to what you feel is your duty, Master Bruce, and I have endured them willingly. But this I will not tolerate. I refuse to stand idly by while you _harbor_ a mass murdering psychopath who belongs no where else but a facility for the mentally _insane_. He is _sick_, Master Bruce. Deranged. He needs _help_. Help which you yourself _cannot_ provide. So long as he is here, I will not be."

Bruce said nothing for a long moment, just staring back at the older man.

He breathed in.

"That's alright." He suddenly heard The Joker speak, and turned, seeing that the lunatic hadn't moved from his position. "I was done here anyway. Like I said. I was done."

And then he turned.

"You choose to suffer fighting against what you know is _true_. You deny what _is _for no reason other then stubborn _stupidity_. You are misguided and _foolish_. I've gotten you to acknowledge you see the world as it really is, just as I do, beyond phenomena. You're continually trying to force moral order where there is none is your own choice. I can't help you any more."

He moved towards Bruce then.

"Take me back. Or let me leave."

Bruce stared at him hard for a moment.

"You know I can't just let you leave." He answered.

"Then take me back." The Joker reiterated.

"Is that what you want?" Bruce asked.

"Since when did you ever care about what I _want_?" The Joker answered angrily.

"Just tell me." Batman pushed. "Is that what you want?"

"I want to leave."

The vigilante shook his head.

"You're too dangerous for me to just _let you leave_ Joker."

The Joker snorted then, and smiled.

"Too… _unstable_?" He half laughed.

Bruce didn't answer.

The Joker shifted his eyes to Alfred then.

"I wish I'd had a knife in my hand when I stuck you in the stomach." He said, no hint of amusement in his voice.

Alfred's expression faltered, but only for a moment and he cleared his throat, straightening his jacket.

"Joker!" Batman spit.

The madman looked back to him, and suddenly he held his hands out and together.

"Well go on…" He said. "Cuff me."

Bruce hesitated, staring at him.

Alfred's expression changed to one of incredulity.

"Master Bruce!"

The Joker smirked.

"If I bring him back, he'll just escape again."

"And the same won't happen with him _here_?" Alfred argued.

"I don't know." Bruce shook his head.

"You… you don't want him to leave." The butler said in astonishment.

The Joker laughed then.

"You're not a _complete_ moron I see." He said. "So what's it gonna be Batsy? The _supposedly_ faithful man-servant, or the only other person in the whole, wide world who _sees_ what you _see_?"


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26:**

For what seemed an eternity, the room had gone silent, no one of the three saying anything, until Alfred could no longer take it. He scoffed loudly, drawing Bruce's attention from the Joker.

"Master Bruce, it is beyond my own _comprehension_ that you even are _considering_ this." He began. He sighed heavily. "You have confided in me Sir, admitted to me what I have suspected from the moment you brought that madman here. I understand Master Bruce. I understand what it is you've told me. To be rid of loneliness is a powerful incentive. For whatever reason, you've concluded this… this _man_, and believe me Sir, I use the term loosely…"

The Joker couldn't help it as a chuckle escaped his lips.

Alfred glared hard at him.

"you've concluded this _man_ to be the one person capable of seeing the world through your eyes." He started again. "I won't pretend to know _why_. I won't pretend as though I ever could understand _that_."

"You're learning, I see." The Joker again interrupted.

"Joker!" Bruce turned and bore in to him.

The Joker only smiled.

Alfred cleared his throat.

"The reality is, Sir, I respect your feelings and your perspective of the situation. My own opinion is that _he_ is everything you are _not_. He stands against and opposes everything you _are_. I feel any relationship beyond the pattern of his committing crime and you being there to stop him is doomed to fail. Friendship seems entirely unrealistic."

"What do _you _know _old man_!" The Joker suddenly stepped forward.

Batman could see right away he stepped with vicious intent and so he reached out, pressing his hand against the madman's shoulder, holding him back.

"Friendship to you is defined in terms of black and white. Your rigid understanding of the term disallows you to grasp what it is we have!" The Joker spit.

Alfred held his gaze, unflinching.

"All I see, when I look at what is between you, is an endless cycle of death and destruction. A constant struggle for dominance." He answered smoothly.

"There is _support_ there!" The Joker's voice rose, if only slightly. "Did you not hear a _word_ he said!" He glanced towards Bruce. "Each of us makes the others existence possible. You're just too _stubborn_ to see that. Too convinced of your own importance in his life."

"I could say exactly the same of you." Alfred retorted. "How it is you think he _needs _you when all you've ever done is make everything for him infinitely more difficult, when all you've ever done is bring him _misery_, is beyond me."

The Joker lunged forward, trying to force his way past Batman, towards the butler, but Bruce again held him back.

"STOP IT!" He shouted. "This is absurd. You're like two women fighting over the same man!"

Alfred's eyes went wide in disbelief.

The Joker smiled.

"Well at least he's a man worthy of fighting over." He said, a purr in his voice as he batted his lashes suggestively.

Bruce shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"Alfred, you know my loyalty lies with you." He began. "I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you. You _know_ that. And this isn't something I expect you to understand. It isn't something I'm even sure I fully understand myself."

He paused, looking down.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe he and I are destined only for more violence." He looked up, at the Joker.

"Joker, you yourself agreed with that once, do you remember?"

The Joker looked back intently.

"You offered me _help_." He answered. "I told you it was far too late for that. Because it was. I'm _beyond_ needing help Batsy. What I _need_ is for you to accept that… To accept me. Your refusal to do so is what's caused all this." He spread his arms wide.

Bruce inhaled deeply, nodding.

He turned to look at Alfred once more.

"Maybe you're right Alfred." He said again. "But I'd like to think not. I'd like to think, if we can acknowledge each other as equals, as the _same_, and if I can let go of trying to force my moral structure on him, when it's so obvious he's simply _beyond_ that, maybe it wouldn't have to end in violence."

Alfred looked incredulous.

"Sir, he will _kill_." He said indignantly.

Bruce swallowed hard.

"He will." He nodded. "But it's in his _nature_ to do so Alfred. He… he isn't _evil_. He was built this way, to become this way, no matter the circumstance. It's something I wouldn't allow myself to acknowledge, not until now. Trying to oppose that in him, trying to force him away from it… it's like trying to talk a hurricane out of killing. Or… or a tiger. It isn't out of some malicious, hateful intent that they do it. It's simply a naturally driven impulse, not tainted by moral questioning. If he was with morals Alfred, if he was able to apply the concept to himself, able to grasp and hold it, then he could be accused of evil. But he's without it Alfred. Morality isn't something he can touch or feel. He's beyond it."

Alfred's face by now had twisted to one of actual disgust.

"Would you say the same of your _parent's_ killer!" He spit. "It could easily have been _him_ who pulled the trigger instead!" He pointed angrily at the Joker. "What would you say then! Would you still be so willing to forgive his _vile_ nature!"

"It isn't the same Alfred." Bruce tried to explain. "Joe Chill killed my parent's out of greed. The Joker kills because he can't help it. Because his mind has developed past social conditioning. Beyond rules and standards and supposedly proper behavior."

He glanced to the Joker then and saw he was staring at him, his expression wide eyed and astonished. For once he looked actually shocked, his jaw hung slightly ajar.

He looked back to the butler.

"Alfred, please. I'm asking you to stay. But to also give me the chance to work this out. I need him here. If only for a little while longer. Sending him back to Arkham will do him no good, or me. They'll only try to impose their rules on him again, try to force him to be what he isn't. And it'll just start all over. It's better for the both of us with him here."

For several seconds, Alfred said nothing, just glaring at his employer.

Finally, his posture stiffened.

"I'm sorry Sir." He began. "But I cannot tolerate this. I pray and hope that, eventually, you will come to your senses and see what a _foolish_ mistake you have made. Until then, I will be absent from your life. Out of respect for you and your mission, which it seems to me you have now lost sight of, I will do you the courtesy of not informing the police of the fact that you are _harboring _a mass-murderer with, as of now, no intent of handing him over to the proper authorities."

"Alfred, please…"

The older man just shook his head.

"I'm sorry Bruce." He said.

"Well, go on. Get out." The Joker suddenly said. "He's made his choice." He waved his hands in a shooing motion.

Bruce turned to him angrily.

"You! Quiet!" He spit.

The Joker shrugged, rolling his eyes up as he turned away.

Alfred kept his eyes focused on Bruce.

And then he took a step back.

"I'll gather my things." He said. "And then I'll be on my way. I'll write you with my contact information."

"Alfred…"

Again he shook his head, saying nothing this time, only turning, exciting the cell.

As soon as he was gone, the Joker exploded in to laughter.

In an instant Batman had turned on him, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him forward.

"I said _quiet_!" He seethed. And then he pushed him away.

The Joker's mouth twisted to the side. He looked bored.

"Alright." He said, brushing down his shirt.

Bruce glared at him for a moment before turning, in a huff, growling in frustration.

"Gahh!" He spit, putting his hands over his face. "What the hell did I just do!"

"You did what you had to." He heard the Joker say behind him. "Besides…" the madman moved past him, towards the room's cot, throwing himself down on to it. "He'll be back."

Bruce took his hands away, looking at him.

"What?"

The Joker glanced around the room before looking back to him.

"He'll be back." He repeated. "He won't be able to stand the boredom. Not after having experienced _you_." He laughed. "Don't worry."

"How can you say that!" Bruce questioned angrily. "He left because he can't in good conscience be an accomplice to this."

"To what?"

"_This_!" Bruce yelled.

"What? To my being here?" The Joker sounded sarcastic. "Please. It's got nothing to do with _moral integrity_ or _doing the right thing_. He's just mad that his supposed place of prominence in your life has been ousted. He wants to think he's the most essential element to you and your operation. I'm guessing old Alfie's never quite lost it like he did with me just a short while ago."

Bruce glared at him for a moment.

He sighed loudly in frustration before shaking his head.

"I've got to at least see him off." He said distractedly, turning. "Don't move. I'll be back."

He moved for the door. Going through it, he began to pull it shut behind him.

"Batman…"

He stopped, turning around.

"_What_!"

The Joker was looking at him. And suddenly he cast his eyes downward, to the cot.

"Thank you." He said, his voice almost a whisper.

Bruce turned more fully, his brow furrowing.

"For what?"

The Joker looked up at him then.

"For understanding."

**Authors Note:**

**Another short chapter guys! Sorry. Hope you like it anyhow.**


	27. Chapter 27

**Alright guys, as much as it hurts for me to say it, this is the final chapter of this incredibly LONG story, lol. It's a long one though, so hopefully it satisfies and I hope you enjoy it! Here goes:**

**Chapter 27:**

Alfred had left in a hurry. By the time Bruce had gotten to the manor level, the butler was already heading out the door.

Bruce had called to him and Alfred had hesitated before turning to meet him.

Bruce apologized, again asking him to reconsider, but the older man had just given him the same response, explaining that he wasn't angry, just that this was something he couldn't at the moment handle.

Bruce could see he was lying, and he heard the Joker's words echoing in his mind, that Alfred was upset because he felt less important suddenly.

He wanted to tell the butler that he meant as much to him as ever, and that nothing would ever change that, but he could see right then it wouldn't make a difference.

If the Joker had been right about _why_ Alfred was leaving, then he thought he could safely assume he would be right about Alfred eventually returning.

So he let him go, forcing a hug, feeling awkward when Alfred responded stiffly.

"I'll be waiting." He told the butler. And then he watched him turn, and disappear through the front doors.

For the next 24 hours, he struggled profoundly over whether he had made the right decision.

Strangely, the only thing which had kept him from changing his mind had been the Joker's own words. What he'd said to him before leaving the holding cell. His gratitude had been genuine, Bruce was sure. And he was sure because of how uncertain the Joker had sounded. Almost as if he'd been embarrassed.

When he'd finally gotten back to him, almost an hour later, he found the Joker pacing the small room relentlessly.

He stopped moving on a dime when Bruce entered.

"Well what took you!" He asked in almost dismay.

"I'm sorry." Batman answered. "I had some thinking to do."

The Joker frowned, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Thinking?" He said. "Still unsure, are we?"

The vigilante met his gaze, and a moment later, the Joker took a step towards him.

"Don't be." He said.

"Easy for you to say." Bruce answered.

The Joker stopped.

"Yeah. It is easy." He said. "It's easy because there isn't any point. You've made your choice. Alfie'll be back." He smiled suddenly. "I promise."

For a moment, Bruce regarded him coldly, but then abruptly his gaze softened.

"Do you really not remember?" He asked.

At this the Joker's mouth immediately turned down.

"Not this again, surely?" He said. "I already thought I explained this to you."

Bruce shook his head.

"No. I know that. I'm not asking you for that reason though. I don't want to force anything on you anymore. I'm just curious. Can you really not remember anything?"

The Joker sighed loudly, turning away.

For a moment he stood stark still, his back to the detective, before he shook his head.

"I don't remember." He said. "I don't remember anything, except in dreams. And I only know what you've told me now, and what I've heard you say."

Bruce watched him carefully.

"How far back does your memory go?"

The Joker turned to him then.

He chuckled.

"I remember nothing before crawling out from that chemical bath." He said.

"The one you fell in to…" Batman replied, almost absentmindedly.

"That's the one." The Joker answered. "My life starts there."

"You were very young."

The Joker's lips pursed.

"Yes." He said.

"Do you know how old you are?" Bruce asked.

The Joker cocked his head to the side just slightly, for a moment going still.

Finally he shook it, slowly.

"But I don't feel a day over 85." He laughed suddenly.

"You're probably close to my age."

"And how old are you? 34?"

"I'm 35." Bruce answered.

"And you figure I'm the same, why? Because of what you've found out?"

Batman nodded.

"The footage I found is dated specifically. It goes back 18 years, at the oldest, the last tape marked nearly a year later. You couldn't have been older then 16 at the time. That would make you, now, 33 or 34."

"That's what my doctor's have me listed as." The Joker said. "Between 32 and 35."

Bruce looked down.

"That would mean you were only 18 when you fell in to that vat. 19 at the oldest."

"So it would seem."

Bruce looked up at him then.

"What was it like? The accident?"

The Joker gazed at him a moment, expressionless, before finally he turned away, half-laughing.

"No one's ever askedme that question." He nearly mumbled.

He shook his head, going quiet for a moment.

"I don't actually remember falling in… or even fully what happened after that. All I remember is fragments. The sudden realization of being immersed in what I first thought was water. It was all so abrupt, without thinking, I remember inhaling deeply. It was on reflex, really. Whatever I was in filled my lungs immediately. That's when I noticed the burning, and that's when I realized it wasn't water."

He looked up at Bruce.

"It was like drinking fire." He laughed. "I just _knew_ it couldn't be good for me."

Bruce said nothing, his expression completely serious.

"I remember it was as though I'd been suspended in time. Everything seemed slower then what it really is. Very calm. And then all of a sudden I remember being jerked violently, and being unable to do anything against whatever was pulling me. I had no strength against it."

Again he paused, once more looking away.

"From there I just recall being thrashed around, confused and unaware of what was happening, and there suddenly being air and my instinctively sucking it in."

He looked to Bruce.

"The burning got worse, once I had the clean air to compare it to. Everything burned. It's all I could focus on at the time. My eyes, my skin, my lungs. I thought, for a while, I was literally on fire." Again he laughed. "But it was just the chemicals. If I'd been in them for just a few seconds more, I'd probably have died." He laughed once more. "Think of all the grief it would have saved you if I had!" He smiled at Batman.

Batman said nothing.

The Joker shrugged.

"It still burns." He said.

At this Bruce's expression changed to one of astonishment.

"What?"

"It still burns." The Joker repeated, calmly. "It never _has_ stopped, or become any less sever even."

Bruce's eyes were wide with disbelief.

"You mean… for 15 years you've been in chronic pain?"

The Joker nodded.

"After a while though, you get used to it, and don't even really notice it anymore."

"And it's never gotten any better? You still burn all over?"

"All over." The Joker replied. "My skin, my eyes. Even my lungs. But it doesn't bother me. Not anymore."

"Jesus Christ." Bruce muttered. "I didn't know. I suspected it. But never knew for sure."

The Joker waved a dismissive hand.

"It's no big deal. Pain is all relative."

"Yeah, but to live with it _constantly_! Without a moment's respite?"

Again the Joker shrugged.

"And nothing helps it?"

"Except for when they pump me so full of sedatives in Arkham that I can't remember my own name, no." He smiled.

Batman shook his head.

"I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything." The Joker answered. "You asked. I told you. That's all."

/

"Do you want me to show the footage to you?" Bruce asked the Joker.

The Joker smirked at him.

"Do I want to see it, or do you want to show it to me?"

"I just thought… maybe you'd want to know."

The Joker gave a shrug.

"It doesn't matter to me, either way." He said.

Bruce didn't answer.

"If you really want to show me, the that's fine." The Joker finally said. "But only under one condition."

"What?" Bruce asked, hesitation in his voice.

"Take off your mask." The Joker said.

"What?"

"Did I misspeak? Take it off. It's not as if you'll be revealing your secret identity to me." He laughed. "Besides, it's got to be getting uncomfortable."

Bruce went still.

"Come on." The Joker pressed. "What are you so afraid of?"

"Nothing."

"Then take it off."

Still Bruce hesitated.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because I want to see that beautiful face of yours."

For nearly half a minute, the crusader didn't respond.

Finally he gave a slight nod.

"Alright." He said, reaching for the cowl.

It took only a moment to unlatch it and he pulled it off slowly, feeling a tight apprehension rise up in his chest.

When he'd finally removed it completely he saw a wide grin spread over the Joker's lips.

"Wow. The television does you no justice. You're _much_ prettier live." He said, a light chuckle in his voice.

Bruce actually rolled his eyes, turning away.

"Come with me." He instructed, moving towards the cell's exit.

"You're going to let me out?"

"Yes." He answered.

The Joker hopped off the cot then, following behind as Bruce walked out the door.

"Over here." He said, stepping towards the caves computer monitors.

He pulled out a chair.

The Joker looked at him for a moment before finally sitting.

Bruce took the seat beside him.

The tapes he had found were stacked up on top of each other on a free area of the control panel.

He took the top one in his hand.

"Are you sure you're alright with this?" He asked, looking at the thin man beside him.

"Sure as sure can be." The Joker answered.

"You don't think it might trigger one of those episodes?"

"It might." The Joker said honestly. "But who can say?"

Batman said nothing and so the Joker looked over to him.

"If it does, I trust your ability to handle it." He said.

Finally Bruce breathed out.

"Okay." He said.

Taking the tape, he injected it in to the systems player.

A few seconds later, and the giant monitor above them lit up with the image of a stark white, brightly lit room, at its center an unconscious, gangly teenager, lying on his side, his hands bound behind him, his ankles shackled together.

Bruce glanced over at the Joker and saw that he was watching the screen intently.

He hoped silently that he wasn't making a mistake.

/

Throughout the entire viewing process, the Joker hadn't said one word, hadn't reacted in any way overt even. He just stared at the monitor, unflinching, expressionless and without emotion.

Bruce wasn't sure what to make of it all. He couldn't tell whether the Joker was at all being affected by what he saw, whether he was growing angry or embarrassed or sad. There was nothing from him, so it was impossible to tell.

At one point Bruce had asked if he would like to take a break. The Joker had glanced briefly over at him, giving only one shake of the head before moving his eyes back to the screen.

There were nine tapes in all, each running an hour in length, and not once had the Joker moved from his seat or asked for them to be stopped. He barely even shifted as with each tape ending, Batman would replace it with the next.

It was hard for Bruce to watch again, to see the torture they'd put this child through, to hear him crying out in pain, begging for their mercy.

He feared the Joker would suddenly become incensed by what he saw, maybe grow uncontrollably violent.

After all, if the Joker was anything, it was prideful, and Bruce imagined he would be unhappy to see himself as so vulnerable and afraid.

So he kept looking over to the thin man periodically, trying to gauge his reaction.

Finally they'd reached the last tape, and Bruce kept his eyes on the Joker the whole time now.

The cave filled with the sounds of the two men and the doctor screaming as they were attacked and killed by the boy. But still the Joker's expression remained stoic, even as he watched a younger version himself commit murder.

Finally, Bruce turned away, both from the Joker and the computer monitor, letting the tape run to the end, only listening to the sounds of the boy, of Anthony, of the Joker, _crying_ over what he'd just done.

When at last it had all gone silent, Batman glanced back, to the Joker, and saw him still sitting there. Only now, instead of watching the monitors, he was picking at his nails.

"Is that all?" He said. The first words he's muttered in over nine hours.

Bruce swallowed.

"Yes."

"Well then…" The Joker pushed back in his seat, standing. "That was fun. What do you want to do now?"

"You… you can't be serious?" Batman answered, disbelief in his voice.

The Joker looked at him quizzically.

"Why not?" He asked.

"Why not? That can't be your only reaction. Didn't what you just saw have _any _affect on you?"

The Joker shrugged.

"I don't know. I can't tell yet." He said. "But right now I'm bored. And I think we should do something."

Batman gapped at him in disbelief for a long moment, his jaw hung slightly ajar.

"Do you have anything to eat?" The Joker ignored the look. "I haven't eaten in days."

/

The week went by quickly. And than another week.

Bruce wouldn't allow for the Joker to leave the cave, though he didn't try to keep him in the holding cell anymore either.

He knew, eventually, this wouldn't work, that the Joker would want to leave. But for now, he hadn't mentioned any displeasure at the situation.

He'd still been going out on patrol. And at those times, he would seal the cave off from the manor, hoping the Joker wouldn't try to escape.

When he was there, the Joker insisted they spend time together.

At times, as before, when he'd had the Joker there after he'd escaped Arkham, all those months ago, Batman found himself astonished at the child-like nature of the madman, how very much he acted as a boy, not a man.

He found amusement in, at times, the most simplistic things, and it stood in such sharp contrast to how vastly intelligent Bruce knew he was.

He wanted to play Monopoly often. And by the Joker's own admittance, it was a ridiculous game, one based more in luck then in strategy.

But Bruce relented, trying only to appease him.

Funny enough, Bruce won every time. The Joker wasn't very good at the game, it seemed, buying every single property he would land on, whether it would give him a monopoly or not. He didn't seem to apply ANY strategy, really. So he would end up with, more often then not, one or two property colors, but never all of them, and so he couldn't buy any houses or hotels, while Bruce would acquire monopolies of all the most expensive property's and then load them up.

But the Joker never seemed to care, smiling and asking if they could go again, as eager as the first time.

At one point, Bruce had suggested they play a game of chess instead, and the Joker had scoffed, going in to a long rant about how chess was a game played mostly by men bent on proving their intellectual superiority because, deep down, they really were insecure about it. When Bruce questioned why he thought that, the Joker had replied "experience."

Bruce then asked him if he was scared of losing and the Joker had only laughed, before shaking his head and saying that if it pleased Batman, he would do it.

So they played, and the Joker won, within fifteen moves.

Bruce hadn't been so blaze about losing as the Joker was.

The rest of their time together found them often just talking. The Joker loved philosophy, Bruce found out. That didn't surprise him so much, but what did was how deep the Joker's knowledge of it went, how much he knew of the many different ideas and thought processes that went in to forming the world's societal structure.

It surprised Bruce because the Joker had always thought so very little of it all, of people's rules and regulations, of their concepts of right and wrong, good and evil. He'd never past up an opportunity to tell Batman how ridiculous and false it all was. And yet he knew everything there was to know about it, down to the most subtle nuances separating one philosophy from another, and how people used and applied them to any number of situations in life to guide their way.

But then, he guessed he shouldn't have been surprised by that either. He himself had studied criminology and criminal behavior relentlessly over the years in an attempt to combat it. He supposed, for the Joker, it was much the same for him. Only his goal had been only to disvalue the standards and boundaries by which people predicated their lives. He would have to know what he was fighting in order to fight it.

The Joker, of course, didn't view it that way.

He told Batman that he hadn't specifically sought out his knowledge. That it merely had been acquired through the years, without any specific intent. He loved to read, any and everything, apparently. From children's books like "The Velveteen Rabbit" to Nietzsche and Hobbes. Bruce has realized that too from before, when the Joker had requested reading material.

"I'm a fast learner, you might have gathered." He said with a grin.

Maybe he was right, Batman had thought. The Joker seemed to possess an array of knowledge about a great many things, from computers to cooking. Even movies and music.

His knowledge of chemical and bio-genetic engineering, though, was something utterly exceptional. His grasp of it could be described as nothing short of brilliant.

But that was also something Batman was already well aware of.

He'd asked the Joker about it at one point, and he'd again smiled.

"Well you know I didn't go to college Sweetums." He'd said, laughing. "The same way I learn anything. I'm just really, _really_ good at chemistry and all that." He'd waved a hand as though it meant nothing.

As the days wore on, and they spent more time actually _socializing_ then they ever had, Bruce found himself getting along with the Joker more easily then he'd ever imagined possible, the thought passing through his mind more then once that, if things had gone differently for either of them in their lives, or both of them, they might have been the greatest of friends, instead of the greatest of enemies.

The realization, more then anything, made Bruce sad. Because as well as they now were getting along, and as much as Bruce had accepted he never could or even should want to change the Joker, and even with his admittance to both himself and Alfred that he couldn't regard the Joker as evil, but only as a creature without any sort of morality or ingrained social conditioning, who only reacted to the world and life as he could understand it, he knew that he himself would never be capable of letting go like that. Of not _caring_, despite his sharing the knowledge with the Joker that everything, in the end, meant nothing. And because of that inability, he knew that he and the Joker would always be at odds, that he couldn't just stand by and allow the Joker to act out as he did, without trying to do something about it. He just couldn't.

And so, despite their shared understanding of one another, despite the unique bond they had, they never, _really_, could be friends.

Not really.

That hurt to know.

And he found himself wondering how long this could last before it all, eventually, fell apart.

Half way in to the third week of the Joker being there, Alfred called, informing Bruce that, just as the Joker had said, he was unable to stand his lack of duty and would be returning the following morning.

Bruce had almost laughed, because of how accurate the Joker had been, but somehow he restrained himself, instead telling Alfred that he was overjoyed by his decision and would eagerly be awaiting him.

"What did I tell you?"

He heard the Joker behind him, whirling around in his seat.

"Nothing to worry about."

Bruce smirked.

"Right again. You must be feeling pretty full of yourself."

The Joker shrugged.

"I know I'm amazing, if that's what you're referring to."

"He's coming back in the morning." Bruce informed him.

"So much for our environment of solitude. It'll be a lot harder to bond with old fuddy-dud hanging around."

Bruce gave him a disapproving look.

"He won't interfere." He said.

The Joker only stared at him with a look of mild amusement.

"I'm serious." Batman said.

"So am I." The Joker replied.

/

At some point, Bruce had fallen asleep in the cave. Something which had been happening more frequently as he actually allowed his guard to begin dropping around the Joker. Somehow he knew, deep down, he would be alright.

He awoke groggily and stiff, having been lain over on the computer consul for a number of hours.

Lifting his head up, he glanced around the cave, rubbing the back of his neck, waiting for his eyes to clear.

It was only after a few, passing moments did he become aware of how quiet it was.

The Joker slept hardly at all. The most Batman had seen him do was drowse. But he never saw him outright _sleep_. And so it usually was, when he himself awoke, it was to the sound of the Joker doing _something_. Either him pacing, or tinkering with something in the cave. He'd found his way over to the chemical lab more then once. Bruce had nearly had a heart attack when he'd heard a loud explosion while up in the manor, getting food. He'd come running down in a frenzy, thinking the Joker had just blown himself up. Almost. He found the lunatic still seated at the table, black soot all over his face and hands. When he saw Bruce, he'd smiled and apologized with a chuckle.

Other times Bruce would wake to the Joker talking aloud to himself. It was something he found him doing often.

Once the vigilante woke to the sound of the Joker's voice, and had pretended to still be asleep, curious as to what he would say. What he heard, in some ways, disturbed him. It was the only time in which he thought the Joker sounded truly _mad_. His dialog seemed random and nonsensical, his tone one moment calm and collected, the next angry and aggressive, whatever subject he spoke about changing just as often.

Bruce had felt guilt ridden afterwards, like he'd heard something he wasn't meant to. When he revealed at last he was awake, the Joker had quite talking immediately, striking up a conversation with the crusader, his speech patterns back to normal.

But now there was nothing, and almost instantly Bruce felt his stomach drop.

He stood quickly.

"Joker!" He called out. But there came no response.

"JOKER!" He called again.

Still nothing.

He began to move quickly about, glancing in every which direction.

"Joker, I'm NOT playing around here! Where are you!"

He was met only with the sound of his own voice, echoing off the cave walls and he felt his heart begin to sink as it became more and more obvious he was alone.

He peered up the staircase, leading to the manor. The cave had been sealed, but if anyone could find a way past it, it was the Joker, and Bruce allowed himself a moment of hope that perhaps he'd just found his way up to the house.

But then he turned, and saw, sat on the work station, a note.

He went to it fast, taking it up in his hand. Written in ridiculously neat, elegant cursive, in black ink, it read:

"_My dear,_

_As I'm sure by now you've discerned, I have departed, away from your fair company. And though it grieved me to do so, alas, there is a matter which requires my attendance. It must be admitted, these last weeks have distracted me from it, but the impending return of your man-servant has reignited my desire to see the task through. Given… recent developments between us, I hope, Bruce, that you will find yourself able to leave me to it, and soon, we shall reunite. Out in the world I think is best for us both. Your man-servant, Alfred, I fear shall find it impossible to let us be as we are. You may not see this reality due to the apparent loyalty you hold towards the old man, but believe me my darling, if I were to stay, he __will__ eventually let slip that you have me harbored there, whether to the police, or to one of your many partners in crime (fighting, heh!). I rather would not risk the chance of your identity being revealed, lest we __both __end up in Arkham. You would not like it there Batsy, not a free-spirit such as yourself. Not one bit. And I would like even less for you to be there. But make no mistake, if ever they were to find out the truth of who you are, there would be not a __moments__ hesitation for them to label you as insane as I. I hope then sincerely you understand my course of action. And besides, look on the bright side. Your place is so awfully dreary; unimaginative and dark. You now will have the opportunity to come and stay with me. And I assure you, my sweet, I can and will show you the greatest fun of your life. I promise, as soon as I've procured suitable shelter, you'll be made aware of the address. _

_I thank you for providing to me company and a mind every bit the equal to my own to converse with._

_Until next we meet._

_Love_

_J_."

For several seconds Batman stood in silence, just staring at the letter.

For a reason inexplicable to him, he felt a sudden and crushing sense of loneliness. He'd been growing so accustomed to having the Joker there with him.

But as his mind raced, the feeling was replaced by anxiety and then fear. What "matter" was the Joker referring to? As much as he hated to admit it, Bruce knew it could only be something illegal in nature, as best something minor, but at worst, and more likely, something violent. And he worried then what that meant for the two of them.

If whatever he had planned was the latter, despite the progress they had made the last two and a half weeks, coming close to something resembling actual _friends_, Bruce knew in his heart he couldn't just stand idly by and allow the Joker to hurt anyone. He would _have_ to intervene.

He felt suddenly foolish. How could he have been so stupid as to think he could keep the Joker locked away from the world? He should have seen this coming!

And his eyes went wide suddenly with realization.

"The other guard!" He whispered.

He felt his hand curl inward, crushing the note within his palm.

"Damn it, _no_!"

/

He stood outside a shabby looking apartment complex, in Gotham's east quarter. It was later. Somewhere around 4 in the morning, the Joker gathered. So he knew he would be home.

Walking to the buildings front entrance, he pulled open the door and found himself in the lobby, just as filth ridden as the outside had been.

Glancing to his right, he saw the unit mailboxes and smiled.

"Let's see." He began, stepping towards it, bending down to read the names and apartment numbers.

"Stevenson? Stevenson? Ah! There you are sweetie." He spoke softly to himself. "A6."

He glanced up to the stairs before striding forward, acceding them quickly and quietly.

It didn't take long for him to find the correct unit.

It was on the first floor up from the lobby entrance, six doors down.

He knew Stevenson had lost his job at Arkham after the scandal of what he and the other two, now dead guards had done to him was revealed. Whether he had gotten some replacement job since then, the Joker didn't know. But he thought it safe to assume that, at this hour, on a weekend as it was, he would be home, sleeping soundly.

Either way, it hardly mattered.

He was going to let himself in.

Bending down so that he was eye level with the doors lock mechanism, he retrieved a paper clip from out of his pocket. Batsy had had lots of these lying around his place.

He made quick work of it. Placing his hand on the knob, the door opened easily with a bit of a creak. It mattered nothing to the Joker though as he stepped with confidence in to the small apartment.

Inside was dark. But over the years, the Joker had grown accustomed to being in places with little and sometimes no light. The many long months he would spend incarcerated at Arkham, he almost always was in solitary confinement, and more often then not, he would be left with no light source, whoever the asylum director at the time deciding he simply was 'too dangerous' to allow for any glass objects to be left in the cell with him. So his eyes were used to the dark and he moved about without difficulty, able to see clearly the outline of the places various objects.

He could hear a man snoring, somewhere off to the left, which led him to a very short hallway, with two doors on either side. The first one he tried was the right one, leading to the bedroom. And there he saw Stevenson, wrapped half up in some wooly looking blanket, one leg dangling clumsily over the mattress' edge. He was lying face down, on his stomach, wearing nothing but boxer shorts.

The Joker grinned, stepping towards him, not bothering to be quiet.

He stared down at the man for a few moments, just watching him, watching as his back rose and fall with each breath.

Finally he reached out, tapping him softly on the shoulder.

He stirred briefly, but didn't wake.

So again the Joker reached out, tapping him a bit more firmly.

This time Stevenson waved out with a hand, mumbling something in to his pillow.

So the Joker did it again.

"Wakey, wakey." He said, trying to suppress the chuckle he felt bubbling up in his throat.

"Mmhmmh… go away." Stevenson protested, clearly still half asleep.

"Oh no, my darling. Not when I've only just _arrived_!" The Joker replied.

Again the man waved at him.

"… away. Go away…"

The Joker sighed, rolling his eyes.

Heavy sleeper. Figures.

His eyes searched for the rooms light switch, spotting its outline by the door. He moved towards it, quickly flipping it on, the small area filling instantly with a harsh light from overhead.

At this Stevenson stirred more violently, flipping over on to his back, his hand coming up over his eyes.

"What the h…" He muttered groggily.

The Joker strode back towards him, standing directly at the foot of his bed now.

"Up and Adam Stevey!" He said loudly.

Finally Stevenson's arm fell away from his face and his eyes squinted open for a moment, before shutting quickly at the invasive light.

The Joker waited, and seconds later, the man again tried to lift his lids, better succeeding this time in keeping them open.

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his sight.

"What the hell's going on?" He asked groggily, still out of it and not fully aware.

"I'm here to repay you in kind Stevenson." The Joker answered.

Stevenson looked at him directly now, still blinking.

The Joker smiled wide at him, just waiting.

And then, there it was.

He saw the recognition in the man's eyes, and the split second more it took for that recognition to register, and his eyes went wide with sudden, abject terror.

He screamed, pushing back clumsily and stupidly against the bed's headboard, moments later scrambling madly, falling over the mattress edge, on to the floor.

The Joker watched him, clear amusement playing across his features.

After several seconds of flailing about, Stevenson managed to make it to his feet, falling back, pressing himself as flatly against the wall as he could, his eyes huge as saucers, fixed on the madman before him.

"H-how the… the hell d-did you get in here!" He stumbled, his voice shaking terribly.

The Joker looked about, feigning confusion.

"Well, I _walked_ in Stevenson." He said, his tone matter of fact. "How else would you expect? I mean, it's not as though I'm _Superman_." He laughed, and the man noticeably flinched at the sound.

"Anyhoo…" The Joker went on, holding his chin in one hand, crossing his other arm over his chest. "Golly gee, it's been quite some time since last we saw each other, hasn't it? I mean, the last I saw of _you_, you were taking a rowing paddle to _me_, yes?" He smiled. "That was _fun_, huh?"

In a flash the man's face had fallen, his brow knitting heavily, his mouth pulling in to a frown.

"Please… please don't kill me…" He whimpered.

The Joker frowned himself then, rolling his eyes a moment later.

"Of for _Christ's sake_, I haven't even _done_ anything yet and you're already begging?" He shook his head. "Where's that machismo you showed to me back in Arkham, hmm?"

"P-please… I-I lost my job. I've got no money. M-my girl left me…"

The Joker burst in to sudden, loud laughter.

"Is that _so_!" He asked with mock astonishment. "Well, indeed, that just changes _everything_!"

For an actual fleeting moment, a look of hope flashed in Stevenson's eyes.

"R-really?"

As quickly as it had come, the Joker's expression of amusement shifted in to one of disgust, his face twisting to a scowl.

"_Buffoon_!" He spit. And in a flash, he'd stepped forward, crossing the small distance between them, grabbing hold of the former guard by his hair and spinning him fast around, letting go so that he went sprawling across the floor.

When he hit the ground, the man yelped audibly, in fear more then pain as he looked up, eyes wide and startled.

He tried to crawl backward, clumsily, as the Joker stepped to him again.

"Now, Steve-O, you know I'd like nothing more then to _stay_. It would have been fun. We could have shared an early breakfast maybe. But my time as of now is limited, and I'll have to make this affair a quick one, if I want to succeed fully in my nights intended endeavors."

Stevenson had held his hands up in front of his face by then, as though anticipating some object would fly at him.

"L-listen to me…" He stuttered. "I… I don't have a lot of m-money."

The Joker eyed him with boredom.

"B-but I c-can help you. W-work for you m-maybe." The man continued to beseech.

The Joker smiled.

"Sorry Steve-O. But presently, I'm not hiring." He stepped forward and Stevenson let go a scream, crab walking backward, trying to get away .

"Oh, you're terribly cliché." The Joker went on. "Why is it always it that you people who put on the greatest show of bravado always are the most cowardly?"

The man said nothing.

"Ah, well. The predictability of human nature."

Quick as lightening, the Joker reached down, again taking the ex-guard by his hair. Lifting him up, he slammed Stevenson's head backward, against the wall before leaning in to him, his forearm pressed lightly against the man's throat, his hand still tangled in his locks.

"You know, I often find myself in the position you now find _yourself_." He grinned. "There's only one person I've ever met who can routinely put me in such a place. Unfortunately for him, he doesn't have the guts to do what I'm about to. Don't worry, suffocation cause's great panic, but it really doesn't hurt. You're fear will far outdo your pain. You should consider yourself lucky."

"Please!" Stevenson made one last plea before the Joker suddenly increased the pressure of his forearm against his throat.

The man struggled desperately, his arms flailing, his hands reaching up, grabbing hold of the Joker's face, pushing against it, trying to get him off.

But the Joker didn't move at all, leaning harder against him, never taking his eyes from his victim, even as he felt Stevenson's nails digging hard in to his own flesh.

After just a few moments more, he could feel the strength going from the man. His hands began to slip away from the Joker's face as his eyes began to roll upwards.

The Joker's grin widened.

Just a little longer and…

"Joker!"

He stopped, and could feel his face pulling in to a frown.

"_Not now_."

Turning to look over his shoulder he saw Batman, sat on the edge of the room's window.

He looked angry.

"Let him go." He said, his voice calm.

The Joker breathed in sharply, turning quickly to face the vigilante, bringing Stevenson with him so that the ex-guard's back now was against the lunatic and he once more had his forearm wrapped about his neck, pressing against his throat.

"I asked you to let me be." He said, his eyes focusing on Batman like lasers.

Batman shook his head.

"You know I couldn't do that." He said.

"You _can_!" The Joker countered and Bruce found himself taken aback by the sudden desperation in his voice. "You _said_ you understood!"

The detective glared at him for a moment, saying nothing.

"I do." He finally breathed, his tone cautious.

"Then let me _be_."

Bruce hesitated, coming down off the window's ledge.

"Joker, I _do_ understand. I know what it is you are and I accept that. But you also have to understand what it is _I _am. And if you _do_, you'll also understand why it is I can't let you take that man's life. Not if I can help it."

He could see the Joker's hold on the man tightening and he took a step forward.

"Joker, please…"

"_No_." The madman seethed. "Any other time, you can stop me. But not now. This _belongs _to me."

"Joker…" Batman started. "I know what this man did to you, but I'm asking you, _please_, let him go. You don't have to do this."

The Joker's face twisted in to a scowl.

"Isn't it always _you_ who speaks of _justice_?" He spit. "And by your definitions, has this man met _his_? Let me have this!"

"He didn't suffer as he should, no." Bruce began. "You were right. I tried everything to see that he and the others served jail time. But the board and state saw fit only to terminate their positions. And I'm sorry." He took another step forward. "But I'm asking you, please, let him go. I don't want to fight with you."

"You don't have to." The Joker said. "You can walk away. No one will ever know."

Batman only shook his head.

"I would know." He said.

The Joker stared hard at him and then suddenly, with his free hand, reached around behind him and pulled from his waist band a batarang.

"I took this from the cave." He said, placing its sharp edge against Stevenson's throat.

Bruce took another step forward.

"Stop." He said, holding his hand out.

"I could slice his throat wide and everyone would think you did it." The Joker went on as though he hadn't even heard the vigilante.

Batman gazed back at him, silent.

"They'd put you in Arkham."

The Joker seemed distracted then, his eyes shifting down, his voice drifting off.

"You wouldn't like it in Arkham."

"Joker…"

"You wouldn't like it…"

Batman again stepped forward and now was only a few feet away.

Suddenly the Joker looked up and Bruce could see in his eyes he was going to kill the man.

He lunged forward, crashing in to them both, knocking them back. Immediately he grabbed for the Joker's wrists, slamming them hard against the wall. The batarang fell to the floor. Stevenson had also dropped there and he was crying, crawling away.

"Help me… help me…" He whimpered.

Batman glanced down at him.

"Get OUT of here!" He spit, fury in his voice.

The man looked up at him, startled.

"NOW!"

"Oh God…"

The man yelped, struggling weakly to his feet, running for the door, falling again to his knees before getting back up and disappearing through it.

"NO!" The Joker screamed, struggling viciously against Batman's hold.

"Let him _go_ Joker!" Batman said, tightening his grip.

The Joker stared wide eyed at the room's door for a long moment before finally letting go a frustrated growl.

"Let go!" He spit, pushing forwards against Batman's grasp.

The detective did and as soon as the Joker was free from him, he turned away angrily, pacing to the rooms other side.

He stood, his back to Bruce. Batman watched him carefully.

When it became clear he wasn't going to say anything, Bruce spoke.

"Why did you leave?" He asked.

The Joker didn't bother to turn, but Bruce could see him shake his head.

"I explained that already. In the note I left you."

"You left because of Alfred? You don't know him Joker. He would never compromise my identity. No matter how against your presence there he is."

The Joker turned then, his face twisted to a scowl.

"He _would_." He said, his voice bitter and low. "I _see_ things _Bruce_." He went on. "You know that. I see people's intents, who they are inside, what they're capable of; better then they do even."

Batman shook his head.

"I've known Alfred since I was born. He's worked for my family for over half his life. He would never…"

"You deny my ability to read people, even as I'm proven right by his return." The Joker cut him off. "He _will_ tell."

He glared at the vigilante for a moment before once more turning away, his arms crossing over his chest.

"They'd put you away if they ever knew. And you wouldn't like Arkham."

Bruce huffed, stepping forward.

"And what makes you so sure I'd end up there?" He asked. "Blackgate seems more likely."

The Joker looked over his shoulder at him, scoffing.

"Wasn't it yourself who only two weeks ago admitted to our likeness with one another?"

"Yes." Bruce nodded. "But I'm no killer Joker. At most, they'd lock me up for…"

"Arkham Asylum for the _Criminally_ Insane." Again the Joker cut him short. "You're a criminal Batman. The same as I. And make no mistake, you meet _all_ the criteria for what they call insanity… You wouldn't like it there."

"You keep saying that." Bruce said. "What about it wouldn't I like, besides the fact of being locked up. You think I couldn't escape it as easily as you?"

The Joker turned to him.

"No." He said. "You couldn't."

It was Bruce's turn to scoff.

"I could." He said.

The Joker shook his head.

"No. You _couldn't_." The Joker stepped towards him then. He reached for his left shirt sleeve, undoing the cuff and pulling it up to his elbow. "Remember my accident?" He questioned. "You were asking me about it. It did something to my physiology. I'm immune to most of their drugs. They have little to no effect on me. Sedation does nothing but make me drowsy. They have to pump me full with an ungodly amount to achieve any of the desired affect. Direct injections too. Pills don't work fast enough." He smiled suddenly. "And most of the time, they're too scared of me to ever bother getting that close. Their antipyschotic's don't do a damn thing. They give me more then twice what the other patients get." He waved a hand. "Nothing."

He glared at Batman for a moment.

"They abuse their patients there." He said. "Most of them they keep so drugged up that they don't even know it when they're being beaten. Or _fucked_."

Bruce's eyes went wide, startled.

"What?" He asked.

The Joker smirked.

"That's right babe." He said. "Apparently, the mentally ill make for the ideal rape victims. After all, they're crazy, so no one's going to believe a word of it if they ever spill the beans. And they're kept so doped up that even the really _violent_ ones rarely show any resistance. That's how they like it, those Arkham employees. Nice and easy. No fuss."

"Are you telling me the truth?" Batman asked.

"Why would I lie?" The Joker said.

Batman said nothing, just staring hard at him.

"It's the truth." The Joker went on. "There's all manner of abuse that goes on there. They make the really low functioning crazies fight each other all the time. Once in a while, they'll even drag some of us more stable ones in to their betting game. They like to turn the hoses on you, which I already told you about. If you ever ended up there, they'd keep you so drugged you wouldn't even remember you _were_ Batman. If I wasn't all messed up physiologically, I'd never escape."

"But you're not the only one who does." Bruce countered.

The Joker shrugged.

"I help them."

"What?"

"I help them. You're referring to Harvey and Eddy and Jonathan. All those loser, right?"

Bruce said nothing.

"I give them escape routes, tell them what they need to do, how to fight the effects of the drugs. That's another area my knowledge of chemical and bio-engineering comes in handy." He smiled. "I only help them to keep you going while I'm locked away. After all, I wouldn't want you getting rusty. Don't you ever wonder why it is I get out more than twice as frequently as any of the others? I'd help you too, of course, but I could never leave without you. It would make escaping much more difficult. Believe me, I've tried with Harley, and it's completely unpleasant. Not that you wouldn't be more efficient then her, but you understand. You'd still be sedated and high. Arkham isn't as ineffectual at keeping their residents as the media likes to portray. _I'm_ their main problem." He laughed lightly.

Bruce's expression was one of pure astonishment and horror.

"How regular is this sort of thing? How many of the institutes employees are involved with this?"

The Joker laughed again.

"Almost all dear. The nurses generally keep out of it though, as do the doctors. It's mostly the guards and orderlies. The doctors like to abuse their patients mentally."

"And what about you?" Batman pressed.

The Joker shrugged.

"They beat me." He answered. "But not nearly as often as they do the others. I think it puts em' off when I laugh." He winked. "They threw me in to fight another patient once. Guy's name was Alex Pusher. Real big fella. Taller than me even, strong as an ox. He was in for killing his whole family, wife and kids, then running to his neighbor for help and killing her too. The guards thought it'd be funny to see me get beat to a pulp. So I decided to snap his neck, and they got in all sorts of trouble. They haven't included me in their matchmaking since then."

"Have you ever…" Bruce began, than stopped. "I mean, were you ever…"

"Raped?" The Joker finished for him, seeing how he was struggling with the question.

Bruce nodded.

"Mmm." The Joker rolled his eyes, looking away. "When I first came to Arkham, two months in, they decided I was their mark. Usually they just come to your cell at night and do it to you there. They always make sure to sedate you heavily beforehand, so you can't put up much of a fight, if any. But this was early on, before they'd become completely privy to my built up resistance. So they gave me the same amount of sedative they give to everyone else. I knew they were coming, I just didn't know the time. I'd already killed a few employees there, so they were mad and wanting to make it ugly.

And, I suppose you could say, they did."

Batman's eyes went wide.

"They…" He began.

The Joker shrugged again.

"There were eight of them. There wasn't really much I could do, at the time. Though I can say with some amusement they were taken aback by my not being so pliable as they'd imagined I'd be." He smiled faintly, his eyes glimmering. "And even more so by my failure to scream. Heh."

"Jesus Christ, I had no idea." Bruce said, stunned.

The Joker waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh, but you see, I got them back. Every. Last. One." He laughed. "Give as good as you get, I always say. I saw fit to pay each of them a visit in their own homes. I thought it only fair to math the level of intimacy they'd put in to _their_ attack. You may remember the headlines? 'Joker Kills Arkham 8 in Brutal Bloodbath!' I made sure whatever family they had was home at the time, so that they'd have to _watch._"

Bruce's mouth had twisted in to a frown.

The Joker's smiled broadened.

"Needless to say, they've never made the mistake of making me their mark again. And therein, Bat-babe, lies the point. I have a reputation to uphold. I have to _kill_ the buffoon, lest others like him get in to their minds I can be toyed with. By keeping me from it, you're risking my own well-being. Now doesn't that just make you feel all guilt-ridden and _bad_ inside?"

"You _were_ affected by it, weren't you?" Bruce said after a moment, his eyes narrowing.

"Affected by what?"

"By the tapes. The footage I showed you."

The Joker said nothing, only staring back.

"I didn't know because you didn't show anything. You didn't react. But I should have known that meant nothing."

The Joker turned away then.

"It reminded me of unfinished business." He muttered.

"You've been abused your whole life." Batman said, his voice soft.

The Joker turned back to him, and there was anger in his eyes.

"And they've all been made _sorry_." He spit.

Bruce shook his head.

"Not all."

"Yes, _all_." The Joker shot. "I'll get _him_ too." He waved towards the room's door.

The vigilante shook his head.

"I'm sorry Joker. I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you. For the way people have treated you. I don't want to add any more to the pain you've already been made to suffer. I want to be your friend Joker."

"People like me don't have friends."

"We're connected. It's all you've ever spoken of." Batman pressed.

"It isn't the same." The Joker insisted. "We're drawn together, we share the same insight, the same understanding. But we're stood on opposite sides. You can't stop yourself any more then I can. You may understand now, you may accept it, but it doesn't change what you _are_. You said it yourself. So what makes you think I ever could?"

"You could try."

"So could you."

Bruce shook his head.

"It's too much. I couldn't handle knowing I'd _allowed_ you to kill, not without at least trying to stop you."

"And I can't suppress my nature."

"But you didn't always have this. You weren't always inclined towards this." Bruce sounded almost pleading now.

The Joker shook his head.

"No. That's wrong." He said. "It's always been in me. Always. What triggered its release doesn't matter. What matters is that it was _there _to be released. The same as you. We _can't_ change."

"Then what was the point of this!" Bruce yelled, throwing his hands wide. "_Any_ of this!"

The Joker stepped back, staring at him.

And suddenly he smiled.

"To set you free from the burden of your own guilt." He said. "To accept that this is the way it is. Between us. We're _locked_ together Batman. You can never kill me. I can never kill you. And it's as it should be."

Batman shook his head.

"I don't get it." He half mumbled.

"Nothing changes on the surface." The Joker said. "You still show outrage and fury at my actions. But inside you've changed. Inside you've grown content with it all, knowing that without me, there is no you, and just the same for me. We were made for each other. Symbiosis." He held his hands together tightly, holding them up.

Batman said nothing.

"Now let me go. With the knowledge you'll do what you can to stop me, but also with the knowledge that what I do is _not_ against God."

For a moment, the air grew silent around them as they just stared at one another, their gazes focused and intent.

And finally Bruce breathed, releasing the breath he felt he'd been holding forever.

"I won't take you in." He said, his voice only just above a whisper. "I won't take you back to Arkham ever again."

The Joker said nothing.

"Go."

The Joker's eyes flashed.

"Go now."

The Joker started, staring at him. And then he moved forward, towards him, until he stood just inches from the vigilante.

Without warning, the madman wrapped his arms around the detective, pulling him in close until their bodies pressed against each other in an embrace so tight it might suffocate.

He could feel the Joker bury his head against his shoulder and for an instant, they were perfectly still.

And then the Joker lifted his face, his lips close to Bruce's ear.

"I've never known love." He whispered. "The one thing I've never known."

He pulled back then, looking Bruce in the face.

The vigilante waited, sure the lunatic would speak again.

But instead he just smiled, his mouth curling up just faintly.

And there was something so strong in his eyes then, some gleaming, shining truth, older then time itself.

Without the Joker ever saying a word, he told Bruce so clearly… he told him, he'd come to know the one emotion he never had.

_With_ him, he came to know love.

The End

**Authors Note:**

**Well, there you have it. I hope you guys liked it. It's always really difficult for me to end things like this, that I've been working on for so long. When I first started out writing this story, I actually only intended for it to be a short story, if you can believe it, and it ended up being the longest thing I've ever written. I had a lot of fun doing it though and I can't tell you how unbelievably grateful I am to all of my readers and to all of the people who took the time and effort to leave me so many lovely and kind reviews! It really meant the world to me, to know that you got something positive out of something I created. So thank you so much again! **

**Maybe somewhere down the line I'll write a sequel to this, since there's still so much to be explored between Bruce and the Joker. I know there was like, LOADS of subtext within this story and a lot of you were asking whether or not it was going to turn in to slash at some point. The reason I didn't go that route with this story is because I really wanted to keep it as close to canon as possible. There's undoubtedly that element and aspect between Batman and the Joker within the comics, this shared bond that can't be denied. And you'd have to be blind to miss the sexual tension between them, especially given the Joker's shameless flirtation with Bruce and Bruce's subsequent agitation at it. But since it never actually crosses over that line within the comics and since I wanted to keep this as close as I could to the comics, I didn't cross over that line here either, only because Bruce can be so uptight that it's hard sometimes to see him giving in to any seemingly immoral urges, lol. But, if any of you are reading my other story "Trying Too Hard", you know I'm not at all opposed to slash. Heck, I read the hell out of it all the time, and absolutely love it, and I DO think it's not at all an unrealistic direction for these two, given just how STRONG their connection is.**

**Right now, since this is done, I'm going to concentrate on my story "Trying Too Hard", and also I'll be reposting the chapters I had down for "Trust". I still can't believe I deleted that darn thing! Arghh. But yeah, I'll be reposting that at one chapter a week. Hopefully by the time I get up to the last chapter I had posted on that thing, I'll have several more finished to post for you all. **

**So, thank you SO much again guys for your loyalty and consideration and reading and reviewing. You guys are the best. It really gives me a reason to keep writing about the two characters I love the most, Batman and Mr. J, when I know people out there are enjoying it so much. **

**Until my next update on "Trying Too Hard", I bid you ado! **


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